


there's nothing in this world i wouldn't do

by emavee



Series: silver linings [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Baby Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Canonical Character Death, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is Damian Wayne’s Parent, Dick Grayson is a Good Brother, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Platonic Kisses, Tim's parents suck, also a good parent, and he's kinda struggling, but he's doing his best, nothing graphic but just to be safe, or character "death", who doesn't love a good forehead smooch??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23465905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emavee/pseuds/emavee
Summary: When Dick is 16, Talia al Ghul appears with a baby in her arms. When Dick is 17, his second father dies, and Dick has to take matters into his own hands to keep his family from crumbling completely. It’s just Dick and Damian against the world now, and sometimes it seems like the world is just desperate for him to lose.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne
Series: silver linings [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1688089
Comments: 149
Kudos: 963





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Baba?” Damian asks, looking for a father that isn’t there. Dick shushes him and rocks him and tucks his tiny head against his shoulder, while Jason’s hand clenches tighter, pinching his side through the fabric. 
> 
> It’s Dick’s second funeral for this particular father. Third overall, for two different dads. That’s pretty shitty.

In reality, Gotham is no gloomier than usual. Dick’s lived here for almost nine years now, and he can probably count the number of genuinely sunny, warm days on his fingers. He might have to use both hands, but it would be doable. Still, despite the fog and chill that seemed to settle solely over Gotham, Dick has always been able to find something good there, hundreds of tiny silver linings.

So no, Gotham’s general climate hasn’t changed, but for the first time since his parents fell, he can feel the cold and the poison settling on his bones, bogging him down. For the first time since he was eight, Gotham feels heavier than anything Dick has ever tried to lift.

The weight in his arms is nearly as heavy a burden to bear. Damian is only two years old, dressed in the smallest rendition of a suit that Dick’s ever seen. He keeps tugging at it uncomfortably, which Dick can relate to. He’s held Damian countless times, but he’s never been this heavy. Maybe it’s because Bruce isn’t there to hand him off to when the day's done.

It’s just Dick now, holding his confused baby brother close against the Gotham chill and praying that it doesn’t settle in him like it has in Dick.

The funeral for Bruce Wayne is a fairly large event. A lot of people knew him in Gotham’s elite, socialite circles, and Wayne Enterprises had a lot of employees, so there’s a pretty decent crowd.

Right at the front, so close to the empty casket (because there’s no body, he’s just _gone_ ), stands a small, shattered family. Dick is in the middle, Alfred at his left and Jay on his right, Damian in his arms. Alfred sets a slightly-shaking hand on Dick’s shoulder while Jason clings to him, hand fisted in the side of his too-fancy suit jacket, seeming so much younger than his thirteen years. 

“Baba?” Damian asks, looking for a father that isn’t there. Dick shushes him and rocks him and tucks his tiny head against his shoulder, while Jason’s hand clenches tighter, pinching his side through the fabric. 

It’s Dick’s second funeral for this particular father. Third overall, for two different dads. That’s pretty shitty.

It’s not any easier the second time around.

(Last time it was a funeral for Batman, so Robin went and the entire Justice League watched him sob until the adhesive of his mask threatened to come loose. He'd tried to hold it back, to be strong—he was _Robin_ for Pete's sake—but Wally had told him to let it out and the temptation had been impossible to resist.)

This time though, he’s not alone, and he has to be strong for his little brothers. Robin had Superman and Kid Flash to lean on, but Damian and Jay need Dick. He’s done this before, and it hurts so, _so_ bad, but still he knows how to do it, knows that with the right support, his little brothers can get through this the way Dick did eight years ago. He has to be there for them the way… the way Bruce was for him. He presses Damian closer to his chest, burying his nose in dark hair and trying so hard to hold in his tears.

He feels so _useless._ He’s Robin, for fuck’s sake. He became Robin to keep other kids from going through what he went through when he was eight, but he couldn’t even protect the most important person in his life. He wasn’t there when Bruce needed him. 

He failed, and now his dad is dead. Jason’s dad is dead. Damian’s dad is dead before he even got the chance to know him.

_Dick was already in the Cave, spinning lazily in the chair at the Batcomputer. Both Jason and Damian had gone to bed hours earlier, but Dick was used to late nights, and just because Batman was with the League at the moment, didn’t mean that he couldn’t wait up for him._

_After what felt like forever, the zeta tube buzzed to life._

_“Finally!” Dick mumbled, sinking heavily into the chair. Bruce was back. Now he could congratulate him on a job well done, tease him about how much faster things would've been done if he’d brought Robin along, and get a goodnight hug before he joined his little brothers in dreamland. It had been a long week without Bruce._

_“Dick.”_

_He glanced up, seeing Superman standing there. Alone._

_“Hey, Clark. Where’s Bruce?” Clark bowed his head and wrung his hands and Dick’s heart plummeted towards the center of the earth. “Clark?” he repeated. “Where is Bruce?”_

_“Dick, I am so, so sorry.”_

_“Clark, where’s Bruce?”_

_“I’m sorry, Dick. I’m so sorry. I tried—”_

_“Stop apologizing," Dick snapped, but there was no heat in his voice. "When is he getting back? That’s why you’re here, right? The mission is running longer than expected? Right?”_

_“No, Dick. I’m so sorry. The mission… the mission is over. It was a success—”_

_“Bullshit! It’s not—it’s not a success if… Please, Uncle Clark. Please, please…”_

_“He was a hero. We wouldn’t have won without him.”_

_“No! Heroes don’t go off and die! They come home! I—He has to come home. Please…”_

_“I am so, so sorry, Dick. Truly.”_

_There were tears on Superman’s face. The fucking strongest man on the planet. Dick can’t hold it in anymore. He crumpled to the floor, knees slamming into the cold stone._

_His baby brothers were upstairs, sound asleep. Alfred was somewhere, waiting up for him, waiting up for_ Bruce. _He’d have to tell them. He’d have to tell them, and then it would all be so real._

_Clark seemed frozen, staring at nothing, possibly still in shock, as Dick sobs. He hugged his arms around himself, but the one hug he needed, the one hug that would fix everything, would never be available again._

_“I’m sorry,” Clark whispered again. Dick spat bile on the cave floor._

Dick slumps on the couch, not caring as he wrinkles his suit and musses up his carefully-gelled hair. A moment later, he’s bouncing slightly as Jason throws himself down next to him, curling up against his side. Dick automatically reaches out to wrap his arm around his brother. Jason is never this tactile, but Dick is also never this still and quiet. They’re mismatched together.

Damian is on the floor, doing one of the puzzles Jason picked out for him. He’s too young to really understand what’s going on, but Damian’s got some pretty damn smart DNA, and he’s always been incredibly perceptive for his age. Clearly, Bruce’s inability to read people that weren’t criminals had been a result of trauma and repression, because Damian’s good at it. 

(Bruce likes—liked—to say he gets it from Dick.)

Damian can tell something is wrong. He keeps turning to stare up at Dick and Jason, frown too deep and tiny eyebrows too scrunched up for someone so young. Dick smiles down at him as best as he can muster, but it must still be far too weak and watery because Damian’s expression morphs into a tiny scowl. He looks so much like Bruce.

“Master Dick,” Alfred says, voice impossibly soft and sad as he enters the room. Dick glances up, watching as the butler sits down in the chair across from them, staring at his shaking hands in his lap. It’s so uncharacteristic from the usually stoic man that Dick sits up, suddenly alert.

“What’s wrong?”

Alfred sighs, and Jason shifts beside Dick, sitting up as well. He’s pressing his knuckles into his thigh, a bad habit he takes up when he’s stressed or worried. 

“I hesitated to tell you until after the funeral because I did not want to add to your stress, but I am afraid that I cannot put this off any longer.”

“What’s going on?”

Alfred grimaces. “Your social worker called.”

Of all the things he imagined would come out of Alfred’s mouth, that wasn’t it.

“My social worker? Why?” They haven’t really had to deal with her much in the past few years, since Bruce filed for permanent guardianship when Dick was nine.

“Your guardian is… gone, so you will apparently need to be… relocated.”

The air in the room drops about twenty degrees. Jason is alert now, saying something that Dick can’t hear. He can’t hear anything but static ringing in his ears as his vision tunnels and blurs.

“What?” he breathes.

“I am so sorry,” Alfred says, sounding almost on the verge of tears and that scares Dick more than anything. This can’t be happening. “I tried so hard to keep you here but they simply wouldn’t have it. I’m a single, older man who is not a citizen of this country. Apparently that is enough to make them believe that you will do better somewhere else than in the home you’ve had for the past eight years.”

“Wh—What about Jay?”

Alfred purses his lips tight. “Master Bruce’s will does name myself as Master Jason’s guardian.”

“But not me.” 

“He… Master Bruce has no real authority to say what happens to you in the event of his death.”

“The adoption.” Dick drops his head into his hands and squeezes his eyes tightly shut. 

Jason had been adopted about a month after arriving at the Manor. Bruce had offered Dick the same thing, but he’d hesitated. He’s been hesitating to let Bruce adopt him for years, scared that it would somehow be a betrayal to his parents. It was stupid, he realizes now, because legally or not, Bruce was his second dad, and it certainly hurt just as bad to lose him as it had when his parents fell. 

And now he’s a ward of the state. Again. Dick shudders, remembering the awful few months between the night he lost his parents and the day Bruce finally managed to get him out of the detention center they’d “temporarily” stuck him in. He doesn’t want to go back there, he can’t. 

Gotham social services is pure bullshit. They’ve never done anything good for the kids here.

As if reading his mind, Alfred sighs and says, “It won’t be the detention center again, Master Dick. I won’t allow it. A good home, one that will allow you to visit—”

“What about Dami?” he interrupts. Legally, Damian isn’t Bruce’s either, despite being arguably the one of his kids he’d had the most claim to. They’d been trying to keep things quiet about Damian to protect him from the League of Assassins and their copious enemies, claiming instead that the baby had been abandoned on their doorstep, perhaps by some unprepared mother who knew Bruce Wayne was big on adopting kids in need and could provide the child a much better life than she could. Throw in some Brucie charm, and social services had eaten it up. Now though, it’s coming back to bite them in the ass. Big time.

“Young Master Damian as well,” Alfred confirms. “Again, I will do everything I can to ensure that he knows his true family. I will not allow neither you nor him to lose us, Master Dick. I swear.”

“That’s bullshit!” Jason cries, and for once Alfred doesn’t bother to reprimand him for his language. “We can’t just stand by and—and let them take you guys away!”

“It is. I am so very sorry, Master Dick. This system is failing you once again.”

It is. Horribly. 

And worse, it’s failing Damian.

Damian. He won’t be safe, no matter where he ends up. He’s already in danger without Bruce and the looming threat of the Bat around to dissuade anyone from trying to take him. He’ll be plopped down in the care of some unsuspecting, untrained family. If someone from the League comes for him, chances are they’ll lose Dami forever. The thought makes Dick’s stomach curl dangerously.

Scrubbing the tears from his face, Dick finally looks up. This can’t be happening. It can’t happen. He won’t let it.

“It’s not good enough.”

Alfred looks so apologetic, and Dick immediately feels bad for snapping, but he can’t help it. Nerves and grief and anger are mixing in his veins, making him feel like a human livewire. 

“Master Dick—”

Dick reaches down, scooping Damian up off the floor and onto his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around him as if simply holding on a little tighter will keep CPS from dragging him away. “No, Alfie, I’m sorry. But that’s not good enough. We have to protect Dami. _Us._ We’re the only ones that can now.”

“And what do you propose we do about it? I’m afraid our hands are very much tied in this case. Of course, if you have a solution, I am all ears.”

Jason stares over at Dick, looking angry and desperate but confident, like he truly believes that Dick has a solution for this. That’s what Dick does—he’s a big brother. He fixes problems for their family. Dick’s heart both swells and breaks with the notion that Jason has that much faith in him. He can’t do everything, but he can fight with everything he’s got for his family, and he always will.

He has a solution, slowly forming in his mind. It’s shitty all around, and no one’s going to be happy about it, but it might be the best they’re going to get.

“I’ll file for emancipation,” he says as calmly as he can. The world still feels like it's crumbling down faster and faster. “Get a job. Support myself. I can do it.”

“Master Dick, your studies—”

“I can get my GED. I’m plenty smart enough.”

“Wait, you’re still gonna move out?” Jason demands. “You can’t! Alfred, tell him!”

“Tell him!” Damian screeches in agreement, looking proud of himself. He loves to scold his family.

“They won’t let me stay. And this is the only way to help Dami.” He smooths Damian’s hair back off of his forehead and the boy instantly calms down, tilting his head back to try and look at Dick.

Alfred raises an eyebrow. “What are you proposing here, Master Dick?”

“I’ll tell them Dami is mine. Biologically. I’ll say that it was all a cover story to prevent a teen pregnancy scandal, that Dami’s mom left him with me and Bruce was helping me out because I was too young.”

Jason splutters. “You think they’re gonna buy that? Or just let you have him?”

“We can fake a paternity test,” Dick says. “We have the tech for that. They can’t take him away if they think he’s mine.”

“I’m pretty sure they still can. They take kids from their biological parents all the time.”

“Not if I’m a capable guardian. I’m seventeen. I can get a job, and Damian’s due to start preschool soon so I won’t have to worry about babysitting.”

“What about Robin?” Jason asks.

Dick swallows the sudden lump in his throat. Honestly, he can’t stomach the idea of being Robin without Bruce’s Batman.

_“I… I’ll be Batman,” Dick had whispered, staring at an old suit, now up on permanent display. A fucking memorial. “I’ll be Batman. Jason can be my Robin. He’s been training.”_

_Superman, who had come to collect him for the funeral, gazed down at him, sadness etched in every feature. “Dick…”_

_“I can do it! I can—”_

_“Dick… You don’t want to be Batman. And Bruce never wanted you to be.”_

_“Batman can’t die, Uncle Clark. He can’t. Batman can’t—” Dick’ head dropped to his chest, sudden sobs threatening to shake him off of his feet. Clark was there in an instant, first setting a hand on his shoulder, and then opening his arms to let Dick in as he fell against his chest._

_It wasn’t the same. Clark hugged all wrong. Bruce wasn’t big on physical affection, but Dick had wormed his way into plenty of hugs. And when Bruce did hug, he hugged hard, like he was scared Dick would slip away._

_And just for a moment, Dick had let himself pretend, that everything was okay, that Bruce isn’t the one who ended up being torn away._

_(It hurt so much worse when he finally let go.)_

_“You can’t be Batman, Dick,” Clark said sadly. “You know that.”_

_Dick nodded, his forehead still pressed against Clark’s chest. “I know. But you’ll… You guys will look out for Gotham, right? For him?” He looked up, searching Superman’s face and seeing his own grief reflected back at him. It was painful to look at._

_“Of course, Dick.”_

_He wanted to ask—beg, sob and break down and plead until his voice is hoarse—for Clark to watch over_ him _too. That’s all he wanted, for someone to take care of him, to not have to think about anything for a long, long time. But he couldn’t. He was already asking for Gotham, and that’s a big favor. The League will have their hands full with Gotham, so Dick will have to be strong on his own. For Bruce, for Gotham. For Damian. Just one more moment, he’ll let himself be held, and then he’ll pick himself up and be strong, like he knows Bruce expects him to be._

Dick bites down hard on his lip at the memory, embarrassed at how vulnerable and childish he’d acted then. He’ll have to do better if he’s going to convince the world that he can take care of his baby brother. 

“Robin will… take a break. Damian is more important right now.”

“Master Dick, I must say that I have many reservations here. I know how much you care for your brothers, but you must not throw away your own life to solve this family’s problems.”

“I’m not, Alfie, I swear. I can do this. I know I can. And I know it’s the right move.”

Jason huffs, falling back and folding his arms across his chest with a huff. “It’s a stupid move,” he grumbles.

Dick’s heart twists a little at the thought of leaving Jay, but Jason’s always been closest with Alfred, and he’ll do well in his care. Dick has been helping take care of Damian ever since Talia dropped the baby into their arms. He knows how to do it, he’s _good_ at it even. Dami had latched onto Dick early on, and Dick has known since he first laid eyes on baby Damian that there isn’t much he wouldn’t do for the kid. 

This is just another thing he has to do.

“It’s right,” he repeats, firm and confident. “I’m sure of it.”

And it is. He’d do anything for Dami.

He has to protect Damian. He has to. Everything is falling apart; he can’t let them take Dami too. 

Dick will do everything in his power to protect his baby brother, to make sure he’s safe and loved, and to make sure he knows his father. He owes it to Bruce, for everything he’s done for him, and to Dami. He’ll help keep Bruce’s memory alive, the way Bruce helped him keep John and Mary Grayson. 

He’s always known he’d do anything to protect his family, he just had no idea that it would mean this.

* * *

_Talia came at night, when Bruce was Batman and Dick was Robin. She’d paid Dick absolutely no attention as she passed a tiny bundle of fabric and a button nose to the Dark Knight himself while Robin stared open-mouthed at the scene unfolding before him._

_“He is ours,” Talia had said._

_Batman growled. “How—”_

_“Does it really matter, Beloved? Right now we have much more pressing issues. Damian isn’t safe with me anymore.”_

_“And what exactly am I supposed to do with him?” Batman asked._

_“Train him,” Talia said. “Keep him hidden. One day I will return for him, when the time is right.”_

_There hadn’t been much more to the conversation after that. Talia disappeared, leaving Batman standing there awkwardly clutching a baby. It was just about the oddest sight Dick had ever seen. Bruce scowled when he told him as much._

_“You can’t let her take him back, Bruce,” Dick said when they returned to the cave, “not even when he’s older. The League of Assassins? That’s not the right environment for a kid. We have to protect him.”_

_“We?” Bruce arched an eyebrow, glancing over at Dick._

_Dick snorted, grinning. “You think you can handle a baby on your own, B? Of course you’re gonna need my help. And I’ve got a baby brother now, so good luck trying to pry me away.”_

_Bruce smiled, real and genuine and surprisingly soft. “You really want to do this?”_

_“Absolutely.”_

_“Alright. You’ve got a new baby brother.”_

_“Yay!” Dick cheered softly, scuttling over to Bruce and leaning on his shoulder as he gazed down at Damian asleep in his dad’s arms. “Hi little D,” he whispered. “I’m your big bro, big D.”_

_Bruce actually snorted. “You cannot call yourself that.”_

_“I don’t know what you’re talking about, B.” He grinned. “He’s little D, I’m big D!”_

_“No.”_

_“Don’t listen to him, little D. You just listen to me, I have all the common sense in this house.”_

_“Don’t let Alfred hear you say that.”_

_“Nevermind, I take it back. I have more common sense than B though. You know how many toasters he’s set on fire, Dami? Four. Four toasters. I’ve set exactly zero toasters on fire.”_

_“Not true,” Bruce grumbled. “That one time when you were ten was a joint effort.”_

_“Don’t slander me in front of little D, B. I want to make a good first impression.”_

_“He’s sleeping. You’re not making any sort of impression.”_

_Damian chose that moment to blink open his tiny green eyes, tired gaze drifting between Bruce and Dick. He let out a tiny yawn and wiggled a little, tiny feet kicking, and Dick couldn’t hold back his coo as he reached for Damian’s tiny hand, growing delighted when tiny baby fingers wrapped around his thumb._

_“Look, B!” Dick grinned, unable to tear his eyes off of the adorable baby. “He loves me already.”_

_“It’s just a reflex,” Bruce grunted out, because he never had any sort of tact. “Infants will grasp at whatever you place in the palm of their hand—”_

_“Shut it, B.” Dick cut him off, completely unperturbed. The grin threatened to split his face and none of Bruce’s crotchetiness could dampen his mood. “He loves me.”_

_Bruce grunted once, and rolled his eyes in a manner that Dick chose to interpret as fond. He was, after all, one of the world’s leading experts on Bruce-speak, second only to maybe Alfred. “I’m sure he will.”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He feels so impossibly small and childish, and he misses his dad so bad it hurts worse than any of the injuries he’s ever gotten in his years as Robin. He’s seventeen now, he should be able to handle a little nightmare.

“I think that’s the last of it,” Wally says, unceremoniously dropping the final cardboard box on the ground and then immediately wincing under Alfred’s glare. “Whoops. Hope that wasn’t breakable.”

Dick kneels down to inspect its contents. “Uh oh. Precious family heirlooms.”

The color drains from Wally’s face, something which Dick would have thought to be impossible, given how naturally pale and freckly he is. “Shit, Dick, I’m so—”

Dick grins. “I’m kidding, Walls. It’s just Dami’s clothes.”

“You… Dick!”

Dick cackles, jumping out of the way when Wally lunges for him, but their fight is cut off when Jason shoves a wriggling Damian into Dick’s arms, obviously tapped out at his max ten minutes of dealing with the kid. Well, Dick might as well get used to it anyway. Damian is pretty much his life now.

That thought hits him suddenly, and makes him reflexively squeeze Damian tighter in a brief burst of panic. Damian whines at being gripped too tightly and smacks a tiny hand against Dick’s shoulder.

“Dih!” he squawks. “Too tight.” 

“Sorry, Dami,” Dick soothes, loosening his hold. Damian harrumphs, which is admittedly quite a skill for someone so small. Dick boops his nose lightly to alleviate the scowl—Dami isn’t nearly as grumpy as he pretends to be, yet another trait he shared with Bruce. (And just like he was with Bruce, Dick is the best at getting Damian to smile when he’s pouty.)

In the time it takes for this exchange to occur, Wally has unpacked nearly half the boxes under Alfred’s careful instruction. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Dick says to the blurry form of his best friend.

“I don’t mind,” Wally says before speeding away again. “You kind of have your hands full anyways.”

Jason shrugs. “It’s the least he can do after he  _ ate my cake! _ ” he shouts after Wally.

Wally comes to a stop in the middle of the room, a box in his arms and a pout on his face. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know you hadn’t had any yet!”

“It was a whole cake, West,” Jason snaps back. “No one had had any yet.”

Wally flushes. “Right. Sorry.” He speeds away before Jason decides to throw anything at him.

It’s been three weeks since Superman showed up and told him that Bruce wasn’t coming home. Three whole weeks that have somehow both flown by and dragged on for ages. The social worker hadn’t been overly shocked when they claimed that Damian was Dick’s son, maybe because the media had never been too kind to Dick, maybe because Dick’s plan to raise Damian reduced her caseload. Either way, she didn’t look very closely at the fake paternity test they’d worked so hard to make and hadn't really questioned Dick’s decision to emancipate himself. 

So here he is now, three weeks after his dad’s death, with his own apartment, an actual job, and a stack of GED prep books almost as tall as Damian. Alfred had made it very clear that just because he was dropping out of Gotham Academy didn’t mean he got to abandon his education. Dick thought the man had gone a bit overboard, but he could also tell that this whole thing was deeply troubling for him, so he let it slide. Dick isn’t the only one whose home has been shattered.

Jason’s doing okay. At first, he’d thrown a bit of a fit, in his own Jason-y way. He was rude and snappish for the entire first week, and nearly every interaction he had with Dick that didn’t include Alfred had ended in either him storming out of the room or—and Dick is far from proud of how he reacted (some “mature adult” he is…)—a screaming match. 

Things are better now, now that everyone’s calmed down a bit and Dick started refusing to respond to Jason’s goading, but Jason still gets angry and mean from time to time. Dick can tell he’s still feeling abandoned though. First his dad dies, then his older brother takes the baby and leaves him behind? It’s gotta be tough, especially for a kid with so many trust issues, or was finally starting to see them as a family. Dick hates more than anything that all this went down right as Jason was finally starting to feel like they were his family. The kid is nothing if not resilient, and he’s trying so hard to act like everything is fine, but Dick can still see the cracks.

“Hey, Jay,” Dick calls softly. “C’mere a second.”

Jason eyes him suspiciously before slinking over. “What’s up, Dickhead. I’m not actually gonna kill the idiot, you know that right?”

Dick waves him off. “Of course not, Jay. I wanted to talk to you about something else.”

“K. What?” Dick ignores the harsh suspicion in his voice, reminds himself that this is just how Jason grieves. 

“How would you feel about spending the weekend here? I can pick you up after school on Friday, hang out just the three of us all weekend, and have you home by dinner time on Sunday?” 

He’s already talked it out with Alfred, who had expressed his own concerns about the boys growing apart in their distance. Although he doesn’t love the idea of leaving the butler alone in the Manor all weekend, it’ll be good for them to keep being brothers. Plus, Dick already agreed to dinner at the Manor every Sunday with all four of them,  _ No exceptions, Master Dick, I mean it. _

Jason blinks, then narrows his eyes. “What makes you think I would even want to spend time with you and the little demon?”

Dick shrugs. “I didn’t say you did. But  _ I _ want to spend time with  _ you. _ And so does Dami, right bud?”

“Zoo!” Damian says happily. Dick mentioned maybe going to the zoo about three hours ago and the kid’s been stuck on it since. Boy he’s gonna be a stubborn one.

“That means yes,” Dick says to Jason. “And apparently we’re going to the zoo. Come on, Jay, it’ll be fun.”

“Fine,” Jason huffs. “I get out of school at 3:00. You better not be a single minute late.”

“I know, Jay. I won’t be.”

* * *

It’s harder than he thought it would be to see everyone leave.

Wally goes first, after eating half of the contents of Dick’s freshly-stocked kitchen (and then sheepishly apologizing for eating half the contents of Dick’s freshly-stocked kitchen). Dick decides to excuse it, in part because Wally did just unpack his entire apartment for him and also because he’s had a speedster as his best friend for six years now, so this is actually comfortingly familiar. Some things never change.

“Call me if you need anything, dude,” Wally says, tugging him into a hug. “I’ll be there in a flash.”

“Terrible, as always.” Dick laughs and shoves his shoulder and with one last grin he’s gone.

Alfred and Jay are harder. Dick tugs Jason into a tight hug, and is a bit shocked when Jason reciprocates almost as strongly. 

“Try not to fuck up the new place, Dickhead,” he mumbles into Dick’s shoulder.

“Language, Master Jason,” Alfred reprimands as Jason pulls away. Then he steps forward for his own hug.

“Dami,” Dick instructs from where his chin is perched on Alfred’s shoulder, “give Jason a hug bye-bye.”

He’s not sure if Damian consciously listens to his instructions or if the kid just really likes annoying Jason. Either way, Dick grins as Damian toddles over to Jason and wraps his arms around his legs. Jason rolls his eyes but crouches down to give the kid a proper hug anyway.

“Give Dickybird a hard time, alright brat?” Jason ruffles Damian’s hair, unable to resist one final act of revenge. “Don’t go easy on him.”

“You take care of yourself, Master Dick,” Alfred says firmly. “I know you would do anything for the young master, but you must remember not to neglect yourself in the process.”

“I’ll do my best, Alf. Promise.”

“I will hold you to that.” Alfred pulls back, his hands resting on Dick’s shoulders as he studies him, his expression unreadable. Then, he softens. “He would be so proud of you.”

Dick bites his lip as tears sting suspiciously behind his eyes. He’s so scared of screwing up Damian, of not being able to protect him. Of not doing as well as Bruce would have.

(It’s ridiculous; Bruce hadn’t had any idea what he was doing, even three whole kids later. But that didn’t stop him from being a good dad, even if sometimes he needed a little nudge in the right direction from Dick or Alfred. 

It doesn’t stop Dick from feeling overwhelmed and frankly terrified.)

But no one else can take care of Damian. It has to be Dick. 

“You think so?” Dick whispers, instantly feeling childish and silly but unable to stop the words from slipping out.

“Master Dick, there was not a single moment that he wasn’t infinitely proud of you. You children are his greatest accomplishments. He would be sad that you are taking such a large burden onto your shoulders, yes, but that would never stop him from being proud of you for it.”

Dick glances over to where Damian and Jason are squabbling over Damian’s bowl of cheerios. Damian really isn’t a fan of sharing, especially with Jason. He swats at Jay’s hand, glaring adorably, and Dick can see Jason struggling not to laugh. 

“It’s not a burden. Dami is family.”

“You will be good for him, Master Dick, of that I have no doubts.”

He swallows the sudden lump in his throat. “Thanks, Alfie. For everything.”

“It is nothing I wouldn’t do again in a heartbeat.”

“Love you.”

“And I you.” Alfred offers him one last sad smile before turning to say his farewells to Damian and usher Jason out of the door.

And then they’re gone, leaving just Dick and Damian.

“Well, Dami,” Dick says around the lingering sadness in his chest, “what do you want to do now? We’ve got some time before I have to start dinner.” 

“Jay steal cheerios,” Damian pouts, demonstrating this fact by setting the now-empty bowl unceremoniously on top of Dick’s head.

Dick sighs. “I’ll get you some more.”

The rest of the evening is… weird, to say the least.

It feels empty, just him and Dami, which is odd given how much smaller the apartment is than the Manor. The last time Dick felt this lost was when he’d first arrived at the Manor, back when he called Bruce “Mister Wayne” and was terrified to touch anything in fear of breaking heirlooms that probably cost more than his family’s whole trailer. But if he got used to that, he can get used to this too.

Dick cooks dinner without burning anything down—thank you Alfred for the week of preparatory cooking lessons. There’s a brief moment of panic where he can’t find Damian’s sippy cup and the kid really wants his juice but he eventually locates it under the couch where it must have rolled earlier. 

They watch cartoons, and holy shit Dick can’t wait until Damian is too old for Paw Patrol. The cartoons he used to watch with Bruce were much less mind-numbingly dull—but then again, he’d been six years older than Damian. Oh god, is he going to have to watch Paw Patrol for the next six years? No, right? Please no. He’ll go insane.

Damian demands no fewer than five bedtime stories, and Dick obliges mostly because he’s not exactly eager to go to his own room and try to fall asleep in an unfamiliar space. Plus this has to be confusing for Damian as well; Dick wants to be there until he falls asleep.

(He ends with his own story, one about Batman and Robin. Damian enjoys it thoroughly although he has no idea that his dad and brother are the real subjects. One day he’ll be old enough for the secret, and Dick wants him to know that part of his dad.)

* * *

Dick bolts upright, chest heaving and entirely disoriented. Even once he realizes that he’s not dreaming anymore, it still takes him several moments to figure out where he is. This is his bedspread and his Haly’s poster and his bulletin board covered with photographs, but the door isn’t in the right place and the dresser is different and—

Oh. He’s in his new apartment, not the Manor. Dami’s sleeping in the room next to him.

Bruce isn’t here. He’s gone. Right.

His heart is still hammering in his chest and he’s shaking, unable to steady his breathing or calm himself down. 

He needs to see Bruce. That’s the only thing that works when it’s this bad. He remembers being so much smaller and hoisting himself up onto Bruce’s seemingly giant bed and shaking him awake so that his foster father could shush all his problems away.

The worst part is, he’s no stranger to this particular nightmare, although this one has the added horror of watching Bruce quickly follow his parents down into the bloodied sawdust of Haly’s Circus. Dick reaches out to try and catch him. Unlike his parents where he is frozen as he screams, his fingers actually brush Bruce’s before he crumbles away forever. He was so close.

(He should have been there. He could have done something, could have saved him.)

_ Dick sniffled, unable to hold in the entirety of the sobs that shook deep in his chest and left him trembling so hard that he stumbled in his journey down the dark hallway. The Manor was old and dark and scary, especially at night, but Bruce’s room was safe and warm, if only he could get there. Fear pushed him faster. _

_ He hesitated outside of Bruce’s door, chewing nervously on his lip. What if Bruce didn’t want to see him? He shouldn’t interrupt the man’s sleep. He was lucky that Bruce even bothered to take him in, he shouldn’t push his boundaries, shouldn’t burden the man with his problems. _

_ The sight of his parents lying twisted on the floor flashed behind his eyes and Dick whimpered, hand jerking up to knock on the door before he realized he was moving. Too late to turn back now. _

_ At first nothing happened, and Dick almost turned around to go back to his room, but the thought of being alone filled him with an icy cold dread. He squeezed Zitka tighter to his side and knocked again, a little louder this time. _

_ The door swung open a crack, then all the way when a bleary-looking Bruce noticed him. _

_ “Dick? What’s going on?” _

_ Dick sniffed and opened his mouth to answer but the words got caught in his throat. They were painful, lodged in a giant lump right behind his mouth and Dick felt like he could barely breathe around them. The room swayed dangerously and he felt dizzy. Dick was never dizzy. He was a Flying Grayson, he didn’t get dizzy. His stomach pitched with the feeling and suddenly he felt like he was falling and he couldn’t stop and he couldn’t breathe and his vision was fuzzy—what was happening to him? _

_ Something firm gripped his shoulders and the world turned still. Dick pried his eyes open—when had he closed them?—and the world was still fuzzy. He blinked and it shifted the tears, clearing his vision up enough to see Bruce’s worried face staring at him. His mouth was moving, and Dick had to concentrate hard to hear what he was saying. _

_ “—ick? What’s wrong? C’mon, chum, you have to work with me here.” _

_ “They won’t stop,” Dick croaked out. Even now, as he tried to focus on Bruce’s face and steadying grip, his parents fell over and over again at the edge of his mind. They wouldn’t stop. _

_ Bruce didn’t ask what he meant, he simply tugged Dick into his arms, carding a gentle but steadying hand through his hair. Dick sobbed into his fancy pajama shirt, collapsing in on himself and letting Bruce hold him together. _

_ “You’re okay, Dick. You’re okay. I promise. I know it hurts, but I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you.” _

_ “I want my mom,” he sobbed. The arms wrapped around him tightened. Dick squirmed impossibly closer to his guardian.  _

_ “I know, Dickie. I know. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” _

_ He’d finally cried himself to sleep in Bruce’s bed, strong arms wrapped around him, protecting him. He didn’t dream anymore that night.  _

_ “You can always come to me,” Bruce had said when Dick thanked him the next morning. “I will always be here for you, Dick. I promise.” _

_ Dick had believed him. _

(Of all the broken promises he’s heard in his life, this one hurts the worst.)

He feels so impossibly small and childish, and he misses his dad so bad it hurts worse than any of the injuries he’s ever gotten in his years as Robin. He’s seventeen now, he should be able to handle a little nightmare.

“I want my dad,” he whispers to no one, and suddenly he’s on his feet, heart hammering. He’s got to go somewhere, he needs help.

Dick all but topples out of bed, his legs still twisted in the sheets, and stumbles out of his bedroom. There’s another door, another bedroom, it’s not Bruce but it’s  _ someone.  _ And Dick’s whole being aches to not be alone right now.

He makes his way to Damian’s room with only some difficulty and opens the door before he remembers how to be quiet. Damian is asleep, exactly where Dick left him just a few hours before after half a dozen bedtime stories. Damian sleeps curled up on his side, face partially obscured by the way he squishes it against the pillow. One of his many stuffed animals is clutched in his arms while the others sit at the foot of his bed—he refuses to even entertain the idea of sleeping if he doesn’t have all of his animals on his bed with him, and he switches out which ones he actually sleeps with. He doesn’t seem to have a favorite amongst them. Tonight it’s a cute little stuffed cow that Clark had gifted him. Damian has it tucked against his chest, arms around it and knees up to curl around it. He shifts slightly in his sleep, making a small noise before quieting down with a sigh.

Dimly, through the anxiety thrumming in his veins, Dick manages to acknowledge that his baby brother is really adorable. 

He drops to his knees next to Damian’s bed, a shaky hand moving to card through his hair the way Bruce did when he was hurt, or his mom when he was sick. 

Damian grunts, button nose scrunching up as his brows furrow and he rolls over to squint up at Dick.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. That was  _ not _ supposed to happen.

“Sorry, Dami,” Dick says, and is immediately embarrassed at how hoarse he sounds. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” The hair move had always lulled Dick to sleep, he hadn’t known it would wake his little brother, not when it should have the opposite effect. 

Damian frowns. “Was happenin?”

“I’m just checking on you, bud, you can go back to sleep.”

Damian rolls over and then suddenly he’s sitting up, the opposite of what Dick wants. His cow still hugged to his chest with one arm, Damian scrubs at his eyes with the back of his fist. 

“Why here, Dih?”

“I had a bit of a bad dream, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.” It’s a bit of a lie, and Dick feels a bit bad. But what is he supposed to say? That he ran in here in a fit of panic, desperate for company, and the one person who’s supposed to be able to calm him down is gone forever? That seems like the wrong thing to tell a two-year-old who still doesn’t seem to understand that his Baba isn’t coming back, that Dick and Dami aren’t on vacation, that they live here now.

Damian nods sagely. “Need Baba.”

Dick chokes slightly. “I miss him,” he says, instead of explaining why Bruce isn’t there to help. “Can you do your best B impression for me, little D?”

Dami nods again, and then screws his face up into a miniature Bruce-scowl. “No slide, Dih,” he says, and Dick laughs. Damian is ridiculously smart, which shouldn’t be shocking given who he shares his DNA with, but Dick can’t help but be impressed by the kid’s ability to retain and repeat all the times Bruce scolded Dick for sliding down the banister. 

Damian’s scowl slides off and he beams with pride at having made Dick cheer up. "Good?"

“Very good," Dick praises. The smiling is helping him slow his breathing down, but the need to not be alone doesn't fade with his initial panic. "You wanna come sleep in my bed for the night, little D?”

Damian shakes his head and smacks his palm on the mattress next to him. “You stay here.”

Dick eyes the toddler bed doubtfully. “I don’t know, Dami. We’ll fit better in my bed.”

“No! Here,” Damian insists, wriggling over to give Dick the tiniest bit more room. There’s no way for them to both comfortably fit on the small bed.

Dick climbs up anyway, because Dami is starting to get impatient and upset, and if Dick tries to go back to his own room now, Damian is gonna cry. He’s a bit of an attention hog, and he hates to be left alone. 

Damian sighs as he curls up next to Dick. Boney knees dig into Dick’s side, but he doesn’t dare try and move the kid to get more comfortable. He made the mistake of waking Damian up, and now he has to pay the price. 

He has no idea what he’s doing, already fucking up. Is this what Bruce felt like when Dick first showed up? To eight-year-old Dick, Bruce had been so big, so smart. But really, he’d only been twenty-five. That’s a bit older than Dick is, but still so young he realizes now. Did he feel this small? This unprepared? This overwhelmed and unsure?

The only thing he’s sure of is that he loves Damian, but that might not be enough. 

Bruce should be here, is all he can think. Bruce should be here to see all of his sons grow up, to see Dick become his own hero and watch Jason graduate and hug Damian on his first day of school. Damian is so young, has his whole life in front of him, and Bruce won’t get to see any of it.

“Your Baba loves you, Dami,” Dick whispers, tears pricking at his vision and blurring the sight of Damian’s ceiling above him. “So much.” He needs Damian to  _ know, _ to understand that even if he never knows a single other thing about his father. Damian deserves to know how loved he was and is.

“Love too,” Damian mumbles. “Shh now. Night night.”

Bruce should be here.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian lunges forward and attaches himself to Dick’s legs. “No go,” he mumbles into the fabric.

Three and a half weeks after Bruce dies, Dick loads Damian and his car seat into his car (thankfully he already has experience with the thing—Bruce said car seats had to have been invented by the devil, since Batman could disarm a bomb blindfolded and with one hand tied behind his back, but Bruce couldn’t figure out _“this damn contraption!”_ ) and sets off on the fifteen-minute drive to an Alfred-approved day care. 

“Home?” Damian asks as they start driving and Dick makes the mistake of glancing at him in the rearview mirror. Damian’s eyes are wide and excited, his face split into a rare grin. The sight breaks Dick’s heart and he’s almost tempted to actually change direction and head to the Manor. 

“No, Dami, sorry. I have to go to work, so you’re gonna go hang out with some nice people for a little while. You might even make some new friends.” He tries for an encouraging grin, but Damian glares.

“No friends. Have Dih. And Baba. Al.” After a moment’s hesitation, “Jay.”

“It’ll be good for you to make some new friends too, little D. Other kids your age.”

“No!” Damian screeches. “No friends! No want! Go home! Dih, go home!”

There’s not really much sense in arguing, it’s not like Damian understands and nothing Dick says is really going to help. It’s better to just let him tire himself out, even if the angry screeching hurts his ears and the quiet crying that follows does a number on his heart.

Damian has thankfully stopped crying by the time they reach the daycare, but he is still a little sniffly. The daycare workers are definitely going to think he’s a horrible guardian. Great.

It’s a pretty nice space. Very colorful, which Dick can appreciate. There are a few scattered other kids, most of them playing, one napping on the floor. A pair of toddlers play with some legos in one corner while a young boy shows a girl that Dick assumes is his little sister how to properly brush a doll’s hair. Three others who look only a little older than Damian are building a tower out of blocks, laughing when one of them knocks it over.

“Hi!” a woman greets him when he walks in. “I’m Julia.”

“Hey.” Thank goodness Dick has such a convincing fake smile. She doesn’t seem to notice how bone-tired he feels. “I’m Richard Grayson.” He nods towards the kid on his hip. “This here is Damian. Sorry, he’s not a big fan of strangers.”

“That’s alright,” Julia smiles. “It’s nice to meet you both. Hi, Damian.”

Damian says nothing, just buries his face in Dick’s neck and squeezes his legs tighter around his waist. Dick sighs. This is going to be rough.

Julia smiles sympathetically and thankfully without any judgement. “First time leaving him?” she asks quietly.

Dick nods. “Yeah. Sorry.”

She waves him off. “Don’t worry about it. Trust me, a lot of kids have some trouble with it at first. But it’ll get easier, for both of you.”

“Thanks. So, what is the procedure here?”

“Of course. You’re already in our system, that’s good, so I just have a couple forms for you to fill out and we’ll be good to go.”

He nods, shifting Damian on his hip and taking the papers from her. He and Alfred had already gotten a lot of things situated on the phone, which he’s incredibly thankful for. 

The very first line is asking for Damian’s name Dick’s stomach suddenly feels like it’s been filled with ice. The thing is, even though Damian is legally Dick’s son, Dick never planned for that to be _reality._ He doesn’t want to replace Bruce in Damian’s life, had every plan to tell Damian all about his real father. Damian was only supposed to be his legal son to keep him safe from the League and Gotham CPS, not to replace Bruce. Dick is a brother, not a dad. 

He writes _Damian Grayson_ on the form anyway and hates himself for it. It feels like he’s betraying the one person he always thought he’d be loyal to. It’s not fair to Damian or to Bruce that he has to pretend like Damian is his, but there’s nothing else he can do. Hopefully Damian will understand when he’s older.

He answers the rest of the questions with relative ease; even before Bruce died, Dick had played a role in taking care of Damian. Not the really hard stuff, mind you, but he was the one reminding Bruce when to take Damian to the doctor and ensuring that if Alfred wasn’t around that Bruce wasn’t trying to feed the kid like lobster or something. Whatever rich people eat. Caviar maybe.

“Alright, little D,” Dick says once he's finished. He walks over to a corner where he sees they have some coloring supplies that he knows Dami will be interested in and sets him down. “You’re gonna have a good time—”

Damian lunges forward and attaches himself to Dick’s legs. “No go,” he mumbles into the fabric.

He sighs. “I’m sorry, bud. But you’ll have fun here. Look, see? You can color—”

“Please,” Damian pleads and oh it hurts. He sounds so pitiful and _desperate._ This isn’t just Damian not wanting to be around new people. He’s panicking, and Dick hates it. Damian presses his face into Dick’s leg and squeezes tighter than any kid his size should be able to. “Please, Dih.” Dick’s heart can’t take much more of this.

He gently detaches Damian from his leg and crouches down to his height. Immediately, Damian throws himself at his chest, small arms winding around his neck and squeezing too tight as Damian shoves his head under Dick’s chin and presses his nose into his collarbone. 

“Dami…”

“Sorry,” Damian hiccups. “Sorry, Dih. I sorry. Please.”

And now Dick feels like he might actually die from how much this hurts. He wraps his arms around his baby brother and holds him close—for once Damian doesn’t complain that his hug is too tight, he actually buries himself even closer.

Dick presses a kiss to the crown of Damian’s head. “Shh, shh, babybird. No sorries. You didn’t do anything wrong, kiddo. Nothing. You’re the best kid in the world.”

“No go. No go. Please.”

“I wish I could stay, kiddo,” he whispers. “I really do. The last thing I want to do is leave you.”

“See Baba?” Damian asks, looking up at him. His eyes are red-rimmed and watery, cheeks flushed and tear-stained. Dick tucks his head back down and presses kiss after kiss to his forehead partially because he can’t bear to see his brother like that. He’ll do anything to dry the tears away, sell his soul for them to never come back. Not like this, like Damian is the problem, like Damian is anything other than a wonderful, brilliant, so _loved_ kid.

Dick shakes his head, unable to find the words to explain to Damian. “I have to go to work, babybird. But I _promise_ I’ll be back later to come get you. I promise.” Damian’s getting snot and tears on Dick’s fancy work shirt. He couldn’t care less. “I love you so much, baby. So, so much. And I will see you later today, okay?”

Damian sobs and shakes his head. “ _Please._ ”

Dick actually considers picking Damian up and leaving with him right then. They can try this another day. Damian can come to work with him, if Dick can just find some coloring sheets then the kid will happily sit on the floor for a few hours. And he never has to leave Dick’s sight.

God, he doesn't want to let Damian out of his sight.

“Damian,” Julia says gently, coming to kneel beside them. “Your dad has to go to work now, but he’ll be back to see you soon.” She smiles sympathetically at Dick, who’s busy internally flinching at being referred to as Damian’s dad. Between the two of them, they manage to detach Damian from Dick’s shirt. His fists have left wrinkles in the fabric.

“He likes coloring a lot,” Dick says to her. He hopes his voice doesn’t sound as desperate to her as it does to him. “And animals. And, uh, I don't know if you have any but he loves music? Pretty much any music really.”

She nods. “We’ll find some fun stuff for him to do. Come on, Damian. You want to take a look at our coloring books? We have the biggest bin of crayons this side of the river.”

Damian won’t look at Dick anymore, staring instead at his sneakers. He sniffles. “Okay.”

“Be good for me, okay Dames?” Dick pleads. “I’ll be back soon. As soon as I can.”

“Be good,” Damian echoes, nodding, still staring at the floor.

Dick’s smile is watery and fragile. “I know you will. You’re the best kid, Dami.” He presses one last kiss to the top of Damian’s head before getting up to leave.

“Come back?” Damian calls as soon as Dick reaches the door. Julia has a hand wrapped around his, but Damian looks ready to pull from her grasp and scramble across the room in a moment’s notice.

Dick nods. “I promise. Love you, Dami.”

He leaves before he can’t bring himself to anymore.

* * *

Dick never planned on going into business. It bores him to death. (Although, most of his experience with Bruce’s day job does come from visiting him at work when he was little and falling asleep during board meetings.)

He’d been banking on either Jason or Damian taking an interest in it in order to save him from having to do something insane like (shudder) take over someday. Or maybe Bruce would stumble upon some other kid with a head for business if Dick, Jason, and Damian didn’t work out. That would have been a-okay with Dick.

Honestly, maybe it’s some kind of perverse blessing that he’s only seventeen right now; no one can make him take over. It’s not his responsibility. Really, Dick doesn’t even know who’s in charge now, just that there’s been some shuffling. He thinks it might be Lucius Fox—which would be cool, he likes Lucius a lot—but he’s not entirely sure.

(It's not like they have to keep him updated; he's just Bruce's _former_ ward.)

But regardless of how little Dick cares for the business world, he’d needed a job if he wanted to keep Damian, so when Lucius had offered, Dick had accepted.

Back when Dick was just starting out as Robin, he’d been fascinated by all the cool tech Batman got to work with, and it turned out that he had a knack for it too. When he was little, when Bruce had practically been his entire world, he’d dreamed of one day working in Wayne Enterprises’ R&D department. Bruce had urged him against getting too techy in his civilian life though, to make sure no one could connect him with Robin. 

(Thank god Bruce didn’t make him dumb himself down completely though. If Dick had to completely act the way “Brucie” did, he’d have killed some snooty, problematic socialites years ago, Batman’s rules be damned.)

And anyway, the desire to work at his father's company had faded a bit with time. 

So here Dick is now at age seventeen, walking into W.E. when he should have been in school—second period English to be exact—dressed in stupid clothes that he had to buy a stupid iron for and taking the elevator up to the seventh floor: Customer Service. Lucius, who's known him for years now as friendly and chatty kid, thought it would be a good fit.

It's alright. He is pretty good with the customers, even the more heinous complainers. Dick wasn't meant for an office though, that much is _very_ clear now.

The work day drags by at a tortoise’s pace. Dick thinks he might have accidentally become a speedster, because there’s no way minutes can take this long to pass by unless he’s experiencing them in speed time. The problem, he supposes, is his anxiety to get back to Damian. And the sheer number of times he’s looked at the clock—a watched pot never boils after all.

It doesn’t help that he’s had to explain four different times that _no,_ he’s not lost or skipping school and _yes,_ he’s supposed to be in here. His office mate, some stuffy guy named Stan, is no help.

But he does his job and he answers the phones and he thinks he actually does a pretty okay job and finally, _finally,_ it’s time to go. 

He might drive a touch over the speed limit back towards the daycare, but remembering the absolutely pitiful look on Damian’s face when he’d left him there gives him a bit of a lead foot. 

“Hey,” Dick says, breathless as he rushes into the daycare and heads straight to where he sees Damian sitting in a corner coloring. Julia, the life-saver from drop-off is there with him. She gently nudges Damian’s shoulder with a smile and points at Dick.

“Look who’s here.”

Damian’s head shoots up and suddenly the coloring book is shoved to the side, slipping completely off the table, forgotten. Dick absently picks it up and sets it back on the table as he focuses his attention almost completely on Damian.

“Hey, buddy. Did you have a good day?”

“Miss you,” Damian says softly, eyes looking suspiciously shiny. 

“I missed you too, babybird. So much.”

Damian nods. “Good.” He lets Dick scoop him up into a hug.

“How was he?” Dick asks Julia. “I know he can be a little bit of a stink.” Damian makes a noise in protest, but Dick hushes him and he seems content to play with the collar of Dick’s shirt. Quieter he says, “My dad recently… passed away, and he was really helping raise Dami. I’m worried he’s gonna develop some abandonment issues.”

Why is he spewing all this to a stranger? Oh god, he's losing it already. _Don't treat the life-saving daycare worker like a therapist, Dick!_

Should he be seeing an actual therapist? Probably. _(Definitely.)_

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” she says, eyes wide and sympathetic. “He seemed… upset at first, pretty withdrawn.”

Dick nods. “He’s usually pretty quiet.”

“And there was one incident where he snapped at and tried to push another kid that wanted to use one of the other coloring books.”

He winces. “Sorry. He’s also not the best with strangers. We’ll work on it,” he assures quickly. Doesn’t want anyone to think he can’t do this.

“Once he was settled in though, we didn’t have any other issues, except maybe a little trouble going down for his nap.” Dick winces. He’d forgotten about nap time, and that Damian typically liked to have one of his animals with him when he slept. That was a stupid oversight on his part, nothing Julia or Damian could have done differently. “He’s a smart kid.”

Dick smiles because he really is. “That’s good.” It’s at that moment that Dick realizes suddenly that his shoulder has become suspiciously wet where Damian’s face is pressed against it. “Hey, Dami, what’s wrong?”

Damian whines and burrows closer. “No,” is all Dick manages to get out of him. He supposes that’s fair; it’s been a long day for the poor kid.

“You know,” Julia says, “a lot of kids will bring something from home. A toy or blanket or stuffed animal. Just something familiar to help comfort them.”

Dick nods. “That’s a good idea.” Damian has a lot of stuffed animals that he loves a whole lot. It might be tricky to keep him from trying to bring all of them, but they’ll figure something out. “Especially for nap time. Should help him a bit.”

“No do that ‘gain,” Damian huffs against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Dami,” he says with a sigh. “I wish I could just stay home with you all day, but I’m gonna have to go to work sometimes.” That’s another thing he needs to remember to keep doing: calling the apartment home. Dami (and Dick) still associates ‘home’ with the Manor. “But you had at least _some_ fun here today, right?”

“No.”

Dick kind of wants to cry, but Julia smiles at him. “That’s not true. We had a great time coloring. Damian, do you want to show your dad what you made for him?”

“You made something for me?” Dick asks, pulling Dami back slightly so he can see the kid better. Damian scowls, but nods, and Julia passes Dick a scribbled-in picture of a songbird. “Wow, little D! This is awesome. Thank you, bud.”

If Damian is confused about Dick once again being referred to as his dad, he doesn’t show it. He simply presses his face back into Dick’s shoulder, but this time it feels a bit like he might be smiling.

“If you keep coming back,” Julia says, “you’ll get to make him even more cool pictures. And I know he’ll love that.”

“I sure will,” Dick agrees. “We need some art for the apartment. Maybe my office too.” It’s possibly a bit manipulative, but he’s pretty sure it’s okay to manipulate your kids just a little bit, like telling them that Santa is watching so they’ll eat their veggies. It’s Parenting 101. Sure.

“K,” Damian mumbles sleepily. It’s a big day of firsts, for both of them.

“Thanks for everything,” Dick says quietly to Julia, hiking Damian up to get a better grip on him. “We’ll see you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow, Mr. Grayson. Bye, Damian.”

“Can you say bye?” Dick asks his little brother, but looks down to find Damian asleep, head lolled on his shoulder and fist in his mouth. Gross. “Never mind. Thanks again.”

“Take care, Mr. Grayson.”

“You had fun, right Dami?” Dick asks when they get home. Damian woke up from his impromptu nap as soon as they got back to the apartment. 

“No like it,” Damian grouches. His little glare is both adorable and disappointing. 

“Not at all?” Dick asks, setting Damian down so he can get Dami’s coloring out of his bag and stick it on the fridge. “But look what you made! It’s so pretty!”

As always, Damian preens under the compliments and his scowl melts away into a hopeful smile. “Good?”

Always fishing for compliments, huh? Well, Dick will happily shower his baby bro in positivity. That's the one thing he's good at.

“Very good. I can’t wait to see you do more. I bet I’ll have to take some to my office when we run out of room on the fridge, huh?”

Dami nods. “Yeah.” Then, having his attention turned suddenly to the fridge, his focus shifts. “Eat?”

“Soon,” Dick agrees. “You can help me cook, right kiddo? You’re a good potato masher.”

“Smash!” Damian exclaims, throwing his arms up in the air and jumping around as if the kitchen floor were made of potatoes.

Dick laughs along with him. “Right, smash. I just have one thing I want to do before dinner, okay?”

“K!”

Damian follows Dick into his bedroom and complies when Dick lifts him up onto the bed, waiting patiently while Dick runs to the closet to grab something before settling in next to him. “I have something I want to give you, Dami.”

Damian looks up at him questioningly, then at the stuffed elephant in Dick’s hands. He reaches out and pats the animal gently on the head. 

Dick smiles. “This is Zitka. She was my best friend from the circus. We’ve been through a lot together, and she’s helped me a lot. Now, she can help you too. You can even take her to daycare if you want, and she’ll be with you when I can’t be.”

Damian takes hold of the elephant slowly, but once she’s in his arms, he squeezes her tight to his chest. “Zi-ka,” he echoes slowly, trying to get a feel for the name. “Zika.” Eh, close enough. He'll get it one day.

Dick’s smile grows even more impossibly fond. “Now,” he says, “whenever I’m not there, whenever you miss me, you just have to hug Zitka and know that wherever I am, I love you, and I’ll see you soon.”

“Zika,” he says again, petting her soft ears. “Okay.”

Dick scoops them both onto his lap, resting his chin on Damian’s head. “You’re the best kid, Dami. What would I ever do without you?”

"Best," Damian echoes, leaning his head back to thump against Dick's chest. He squeezes Zitka tight.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Shut up, Dickhead. You’re not fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took longer than usual. It's almost finals and school is kind of kicking my butt
> 
> Warning for description of a panic attack (to avoid it, stop at "Dick climbs in through the window" and skip to "Oh, hey, Jay") and one very brief mention of the press calling Dick a slut (it's just the one line, but better safe than sorry)

“Hi, Jayyy!” Dick calls, sticking his head out of the car window.

“Hi, Jay!” Damian echoes from the back. Dick grins.

Jason scowls, ducking his head and quickening his pace as he stomps up and slides into the passenger’s seat, slamming the door behind him. “Let’s go, Dickhead. Before you embarrass me.”

“Me? Embarrass you? Impossible.” Dick pulls his head in, grinning wider. “Say hi to Dami.”

“Hi, Dami,” Jason grumps. “Can we go?”

“Are you even allowed to sit up front? There’s no way Alfred lets you ride shotgun.”

“I’m thirteen! And we’re the same height!” Then, quieter he grumbles, “Bruce always let me.”

Dick swallows his sudden discomfort. “Alright, alright. Buckle your seatbelt.”

“I got it!”

“No need to get snippy. Did you have a good day at school?”

“It was fine.”

“Alfred said you did really well on your book report.”

Jason frowns. “Do you guys talk about me? That’s weird.”

“No it’s not! I like to know what’s going on with you!”

“Then maybe you shouldt’ve moved out,” Jason grumbles under his breath. 

Dick sighs. They’re not having this argument (again) with Damian in the back seat. Besides, the whole point of this weekend is brotherly bonding, not meaningless squabbling. Jason’s just unhappy with how much has changed and he misses his brothers—hopefully this weekend helps with some of that.

He’s missed Jason a lot, he’s not going to waste this weekend. This is going to be a good weekend, he’s determined.

* * *

Recently, Dick has discovered that Damian loves video games. Well, some video games. The fun, moving, colorful ones. Which is fine, because Dick doesn’t really have anything too violent; Bruce would never allow first-person shooters, despite Jason’s insistence that  _ “everyone who isn’t a lame old man like you, B,” _ plays Fortnite. 

Usually, Dick pops in something Mario and gives Damian an unplugged controller. Damian can never know that he’s not actually playing—Dick will have to take this secret to his grave.

Dami is settled in his lap, pressing random buttons and wildly waving around a spare controller while Dick concentrates on beating Jason at Mario Kart. Jason likes to oversteer, so he keeps elbowing Dick in the side in an effort to not fall off the edge of Rainbow Road. Dick leans, making sure to pull Damian with him out of the very-deadly path of Jason’s elbow. 

“We should play Just Dance next,” Dick suggests. 

“No way,” Jason says. “I am not playing Just Dance.”

“No!” Damian squeals in delighted agreement.

“Dami!” Dick gasps. “Less than an hour and you’re already betraying me for Jay?”

Damian tilts his head back, grinning up at Dick, who puts on his best puppy-dog eyes. Dami reaches up and pats Dick on the cheek twice and it’s so cute that Dick runs straight into the green shell that Jason just threw, knocking his cart off the track.

“No!” Dick pouts. “You two are conspiring against me!”

“Of course we are,” Jason says. “It’s basically little brother law. Suck it, Dickhead.”

After dinner and a small water fight that occurred while Dick and Jason tried to do the dishes, they put Damian to bed, Dick settled on the mattress with Damian curled into his side while Jason sits on the floor and reads aloud from Damian’s pile of books. Dami falls asleep before they finish the second book, wiped out from all the excitement of seeing their brother again. 

Jason and Dick are settled back on the couch while Jason flips through the channels, having deemed the entirety of Dick’s movie collection unacceptable. Well, thirteen is the phase where Jay’s too old and cool for Disney cartoons which is about all Dick has in the apartment. He can’t really watch anything else with Damian here.

Jason might be too old for Disney, but there’s no way he’s getting out of mandatory cuddle time with his older brother. Dick slings his arm around Jay’s shoulders and tugs him against his side. Jason pushes away slightly, but relents when Dick doesn’t let go.

“Just let it happen,” Dick grins. “I’ve really missed you, Jay.”

Jason rolls his eyes, but his face flushes and Dick can see that he’s trying to hide a smile. “It’s only been a week.”

Dick shrugs. “I know. But I do.”

“Yeah, well. I guess the Manor’s been quiet without you and the brat around to annoy me.”

“Yeah? I’ll have to be extra annoying this weekend then. I have a lot of lost time to make up for.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh, but I think I do.” 

“Shut up, Dickhead. You’re the worst.”

“Nah,” Dick grins, leaning in close to be extra annoying. “You love me.”

Jason shoves his face away, shoulders shaking with contained laughter. “Shut up and watch…” He stops flipping the channel. “This.”

“Jay, this is an infomercial for a vacuum cleaner.”

“I know what it is. You could stand to get a better vacuum. Or just to actually use the one you already have.”

“Are you saying I’m a slob?”

Jason shrugs, grinning wickedly. “If the shoe fits.”

“The shoe does not fit! Take that back!”

“No, it definitely fits. You’re practically Cinderella.”

“Ooh, are you sure you don’t wanna watch Disney? I don’t actually have  _ Cinderella, _ but—”

“No. I told you, I’m very invested in this infomercial. Look how much more sucking power it has compared to that other vacuum. It’s incredible.”

Dick snorts. “Oh, I love you, you little dork.”

Jason elbows him in the side. “Shut up, big sappy dweeb.”

They go quiet for a minute, listening to some guy ecstatically ramble about vacuum cleaners.

“Is dweeb different from dork?” Dick asks.

“Yes,” Jay says instantly. “It’s worse. Dweeb is lame.”

Dick pouts. “Mean. I’m not lame.”

“Sure you are,” Jason snorts. “You’re super lame. But that’s okay. Someone has to be, when Alfie and me are both so cool.”

“You think Dami’s gonna be cooler than me?”

He shrugs. “Only time will tell. But yeah, probably. I have a hard time picturing anyone being lamer than you.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Hush, Dickie. You wouldn’t have me over here if you didn’t think I was a fucking delight.”

“Jay! Language!” He can barely scold his brother around his laughter and the sight of Jason’s excessively proud, shit-eating grin. “What would Alfred say?”

They settle in, comfy on the couch, while Jason flips through the channels sporadically. Dick pulls a blanket over them, which doesn’t do much when Jason shoves his freezing cold toes under his legs, but he’s warm and comfortable and happy.

_ Yeah, _ he thinks, _ it’s gonna be a good weekend. _

* * *

The thing about the Manor is, it’s not actually in Gotham, not really. Plus, it has security that rivals the batcave (seriously, how did no one ever put anything together?). So the thing about the Manor is, you’re kind of isolated from a lot of the real Gotham crime.

Dick’s apartment is not the Manor. Sure, they’d dipped a bit into the trust fund that Bruce left behind for him to help pay for a space in one of the better neighborhoods, but there’s no such thing as a crime-free area in Gotham. Sometimes Dick can hear the shouts, and he hates himself a little bit more every time he ignores them.

Except now he realizes, it’s different. Tonight he has something he didn’t before: a babysitter.

Thirteen-year-olds can be babysitters, right?

“Jay,” he whispers, poking his brother to rouse him from where he’s been dozing on the couch.

“Huh?” Jason blinks awake to glare up at him. “Whatchu want, Dickwad?” His gaze narrows further. “Why’re you in your costume?”

“Something’s going on across the street. I’m gonna go check it out. Keep an eye on Damian.”

“Wha—”

“Call me if there’s an emergency!” he calls, already halfway out the window. “Shouldn’t take long!”

Robin drops expertly down into an alleyway, slinking through the shadows towards the commotion he heard earlier. It’s three men, dressed all in black, pointing a gun at a terrified woman who was in the process of fumbling around in her purse presumably for her wallet.

“Hey, guys,” Robin calls, arms folded across his chest and head cocked to the side. “Ya know, it’s really not nice to rob people.”

The men whip around at the sound of his voice, giving the woman the chance to slip away. She barely acknowledges Robin, but that’s fairly standard for Gotham; they do tend to take Batman and Robin a little bit for granted at this point.

The muggers on the other hand seem stunned to see him. How unfortunate for them. Robin leaps into action.

Only one of them has a gun, so Robin takes him out first. He’s already on the guy by the time he seems to remember that he has the weapon, and Robin’s disarming him and tossing the gun away before he can get a single shot off. A quick nerve strike and he drops like a sack of potatoes.

Another guy pulls a knife, but Robin spins, kicking it out of his hand and quickly knocking him to the ground. In a matter of seconds, all three men are down, and Robin is buzzing with adrenaline. 

It was a quick fight, and easy. These were the kind of thugs he was taking out when he was nine, but god, it feels so good to be back out here. He feels energetic, thrilled, more  _ alive _ than he’s felt in a while. It’s still early, still time to go out and find some more ass to kick… 

“Not even a scratch,” he grins, hands on his hips as he looks down at the unconscious men. “What’d ya say—”

He turns, grin wide, to look to his left. 

To look at Batman.

“Oh.” He’s talking to no one.

How did he forget? They’re  _ partners. _ He’s not supposed to forget his partner. 

The pollution is really bad, he thinks distantly. It’s hard to breathe out here. And there might be something wrong with the night-vision in his mask, because it seems a lot darker than usual.

_ How could he forget? _

“This is the part where you call the police, don’t you think, little bird?”

Dick whips around, torn suddenly out of his haze. “Catwoman. What are you doing here?”

She shrugs. “I was bored. Heard the commotion.”

“It’s been taken care of.”

She smirks briefly, but it doesn’t last. “I can see that. Stellar work as always, but like I said, shouldn’t you be calling the police?”

“Maybe I should take  _ you _ in. B isn’t here to tell me to go home.”

Catwoman brushes his hair off of his forehead (when did she get so close?) and it’s such a  _ Bruce _ move that he flinches. She pulls back, looking sad.

He’s seen a lot of Catwoman over the years (possibly more than he ever wanted to), but this expression is new. She looks at him like he’s a half-drowned kitten in a gutter, alone and abandoned. Although if he really were a lost kitten, she would surely scoop him up and carry him to safety. Instead she just looks on with that horrible, awful mixture of  _ sadness, grief, pity _ that follows Dick everywhere nowadays. 

“Go home, kitten,” she says softly. She used to call him kitten when he was little, mostly to annoy Bruce. It feels empty now with no trademark  _ Annoyed B Grunt #5 _ . “It’s not safe for you out here.”

Anger flares up his spine, head snapping to glare at her. “I can handle myself just fine.” Anger feels  _ good. _ So much better than the sadness or the goddamn  _ hollowness. _

She raises her hands, trying to placate him. “I know, I know. You’re a tough cookie, I get it. But I read the tabloids, and I know you’ve got another little birdy waiting up in that nest of yours.”

They’d tried to keep out of the papers following the funeral and the moveout, but one lucky pap had managed to get out a story about Dick being an irresponsible slut and Damian a mistake and Jason a street rat charity case—all parts equally horrifying. They’re not sure how they got that information, but Dick suspects someone at W.E. leaked it to the press. 

“I—”

“Don’t make the same mistake he did,” Catwoman says. “Protect your nest first, don’t worry about the rest of the world.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” he whispers. “He never taught me how to do that.” Why didn’t he do that? Why couldn’t he have stayed home?

(He knows. He knows what it’s like to not be able to just sit by, not when he can do something about it. But Dick’s selfish, and he’d prefer a father to a hero. 

Easier said than done when it’s his own restless legs and bleeding heart.

He’s falling into the same pits as Bruce did—and he knows it, can clearly see the signs and red flags. But he doesn’t know what else to do.)

“You’re a smart kid,” she says. Her smile is all pity; Dick hates it. “You’ll figure it out.”

“Gotham—”

“Will survive. I had to dodge that Flash guy a few blocks back.” 

So the Justice League was keeping good on their promise to look after Gotham, a promise he never should have asked of them. Bruce dies and suddenly metas are welcome in Gotham? Great. So not only can Robin not take care of some amateur thugs without having a breakdown but he’s also spitting all over everything Bruce established as Batman. 

But, god, he can’t be Robin, that is abundantly clear now. It feels so wrong, hurts too much.

The first time his parents died, he put on these colors to honor them, to keep a piece of them with him. But now that’s been ruined, because Robin isn’t meant to be alone. He was his own hero, sure, and a part of the team, but more than anything he was one half of Batman and Robin, the Dynamic Duo.

The colors don’t feel like they’re honoring his parents anymore. Now they just feel like a reminder of everyone he’s lost, everyone he’s failed to save. There’s no more pride in this costume. It’s a hollow reminder of the family he used to have, and wearing it now makes him feel completely alone in the world.

Alone and young and small and so, so stupid for thinking he could do  _ any  _ of this. 

“Oh, kitten.” He flinches as Selina’s arms wrap around him. How had she gotten this close without him noticing? “I miss him too,” she says softly. “But you’ll be okay, yeah? You’ll pick yourself back up.”

He will. He knows he will. The idea of having to do it is so terrifying though, when he feels like he’s sinking in the sea, an anvil tied to his ankles. Every day, picking himself back up, alone, and carrying Damian with him. The thought is too exhausting, and tears prickle at his eyes.

He doesn’t want this.  _ He doesn’t want to do this anymore. _

“I called the police for you,” Catwoman says. He blinks, startled. Have they entered some sort of parallel universe? She smirks. “I know. They were also very shocked. But it didn’t look like you were going to do it anytime soon, and it’s past your bedtime.”

He nods jerkily, and before he can make the conscious effort to tell his feet to move, he’s sprinting off back toward his apartment.

Dick climbs in through the window, barely taking the time to tug it shut behind him before he’s stumbling for the couch. He feels like he can’t breathe. There’s no air in his lungs and his head is spinning, vision blurring in and out. He breathes faster, trying desperately to suck in precious oxygen, but it isn’t working.

He’s drowning, he’s drowning, he’s drowning drowning drowning  _ falling _

_Five things you can see, Dick, you know the drill._ The TV. The carpet. The abandoned game controllers. Damian’s sippy cup. Jason’s shoes.

Four things he can touch. He fumbles, but manages to tear off one of his gloves. The couch. His cape. His mask—he tears that off too. The sting from tearing off his mask.

Three things he can hear.  ~~Bruce’s voice in his head, walking him out of his very first panic attack, one he’d been far too young to comprehend~~. The wind outside. Damian's muffled snoring. His own fingers tapping rapidly against his thigh.

Two things he can smell. The lingering scent of polluted Gotham air. The laundry detergent from the Manor that Alfred always uses.

One thing he can taste. Salt.

Someone coughs and Dick nearly jumps out of his skin. If he were any more clear-headed, there would be a batarang at someone’s throat, but maybe it’s a good thing that he’s too out of it for extreme and violent reactions.

He steels himself, knowing that whoever has caught him having a breakdown on the couch isn’t someone he wants to face anytime soon. Finally, he looks up to see Jason standing awkwardly slightly off to the side, shifting and fidgeting like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Oh. He must have still been on the couch when Dick stumbled in. He thought he'd have gone to bed by now.

“Oh, hey, Jay.” Dick tries for a smile that very clearly fools absolutely no one. “What’re you still doing up?”

He scoffs. “Waiting to make sure you didn’t get yourself killed by Polka-Dot Man or something, leaving me to raise Damian. I don’t wanna raise Damian, Dick.”

What he  _ means _ to say is something like: “No sweat. I locked Polka-Dot Man up when I was nine.” Or maybe even “Aw, Jay, you were worried about me? So sweet.” And he means to say it all with a smile on his face that’s enough to convince Jason that everything is fine and he should go back to bed, don’t worry about big brother Dick.

Instead what comes out of his mouth is: “Neither do I.”

Jason stiffens, and Dick flinches back hard.

“That’s… um… That’s a little dark, Dickie.”

It’s more than ‘a little dark.’ It’s god-awful and Dick feels like the shittiest brother alive. He has no right to say that. 

“I don’t… Look, I love Damian so,  _ so _ much, but I’m only seventeen. I-I can’t be a… a… I’m sorry. Forget—forget I said anything. I’m, uh, I’m tired.”

So, so tired. Exhausted and numb and aching down to his bones.

He can’t put any of this on Jason. That’s his little brother. It’s not his job to listen to Dick’s problems. He should be worrying about school and friends and remembering to make his bed, not how much Dick is struggling, how overwhelmed and  _ lonely _ he feels. Dick should be the fun, supportive big brother, who plays video games and lets him eat dessert before dinner. 

“What do you need?” Jason asks, and it’s spoken so softly that it takes Dick a moment to register the words through his panic. 

“I’m—”

“Shut up, Dickhead. You’re not fine. What do you need? What can I do?”

Dick stares at him. Jason looks scared and worried which is exactly what Dick wanted to avoid here, but he’s also holding Dick’s gaze steadily and there’s an honesty and open concern that is much more unusual. 

(But is it really so surprising that Dick’s brother would want to be there for him? Is it really shocking to think that the whole brother thing goes both ways?)

He’s not going to lay his problems on Jason, he refuses to do that. But if Jason wants to comfort him, well that’s different.

Dick realizes suddenly that no one’s really comforted him in a while. For weeks he’s been wiping away Damian’s tears while his own dry on his cheeks. He feels like a rubber band, stretched far too thin, moments away from snapping. He just wants so desperately for someone else to be in charge for a minute, to tell him that everything’s going to be okay.

And maybe he’ll regret it later, when his head is back on straight, but in this moment, he can’t help himself. He’s just so… tired.

It takes Dick a moment to make sure he’s not going to start sobbing again and even longer to actually find his voice. 

“Can I just… hug you for a little bit?”

Jason studies him carefully for a moment, but Dick doesn’t have the energy to try and work out what he must see. Finally, Jay nods. Dick doesn’t wait for him to finish opening his arms before he pulls him in. Jason is maybe too big now for Dick to scoop onto his lap, but neither of them seem to care, and Jason curls over to make sure that he can still fit beneath Dick’s chin.

"I'm sorry I'm ruining our weekend," Dick mumbles. 

"You're not ruining anything, dumbass," Jason snaps back, snuggling closer. "Stop doing that whole guilt thing, it's obnoxious."

Dick nods against his head, although he still feels terrible. This was supposed to be a good weekend. They were supposed to be _happy._

“Stop thinking,” Jason mutters, his eyes closed as he settles in. His breath tickles against Dick’s neck. “But maybe take a shower? You kinda stink, Dickhead.”

Dick chuckles, breathy and teary. “Five more minutes?”

Jason grunts but doesn’t move. It doesn’t take long for the rise and fall of his chest to slow, and eventually Dick lets himself drift off with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Concept: Jason dying makes me very, very sad  
> Solution: (spoiler alert) Jason won't die in this au (he's not robin rn anyway so)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s Bruce’s birthday, and Dick and Dami are going to spend it together, remembering their dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: at this point, Bruce has been dead for like a couple months or so; Dick and Dami have a pretty good routine going
> 
> Enjoy some fluff that's also angst!

Damian wakes Dick up by smacking him in the face. This has become a fairly standard occurrence, one that Dick doesn’t really mind. Still half asleep, eyes barely open, he rolls over onto his side and reaches down to pull his baby brother up onto the bed next to him.

“Mornin!” Dami cheers and Dick smiles.

“Good morning, Dami. You wanna snuggle for a little?” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer, just pulls Damian in, but Damian doesn’t resist as he curls up against his side. Zitka is tucked under one of his arms while he haphazardly throws the other over Dick. Dick can’t resist pressing a kiss to his baby brother’s hair, causing Damian to giggle softly.

_ This, _ Dick can do. Brotherly snuggles are the standard—Dick has always made them mandatory. This is normal and comfortable and Dick can handle it (despite how lost and overwhelmed he’s felt for the majority of the past few weeks).

Dick lets himself doze, knowing Damian will be content for a little while; he might try to act tough, but Dami is a snuggle bug at heart. Besides, Dick has nowhere to go today, already took the day off from work.

It’s Bruce’s birthday, and Dick and Dami are going to spend it together, remembering their dad.

But that can wait a bit, all the reminiscing and the inevitable resurgence of grief. For now, he’s gonna cuddle his baby brother and catch up some much-needed beauty sleep. The sound of Damian’s soft, tuneless humming is the best sound he’s ever heard.

* * *

_ “Bruce,” Dick whispered loudly. “Bruce, wake up.” He reached out, poking him once on his shoulder. _

_ “Huh?” Bruce spluttered awake, blinking sluggishly up at Dick. “What’s up, Dickie? Bad dream?” _

_ Dick rolled his eyes. “No, B. It’s like nine in the morning.” _

_ “Hn.” Bruce fought the urge to roll back over and go back to sleep. Nine was still to early for a Saturday, especially after a late patrol. “Then what’s up?” _

_ Dick flushed, suddenly embarrassed at having woken the man up. What if Bruce was mad when he realized how silly Dick was being? “I, uh…” He chomped down hard on his lip, causing Bruce to frown. _

_ “What’s wrong, chum?” _

_ “I made a mess,” he burst out. “I’m sorry.” _

_ “It’s—” _

_ He barreled on. “I was trying to make breakfast for you because it’s your birthday and I always… I always made breakfast for my parents on their birthdays and I wanted to do that for you but… but I made a mess.” _

_ “Oh.” Bruce blinked. “Where’s Alfred?” _

_ “He went to the store. I thought… I thought I’d get a head start. Do ya think he’s gonna be mad at me?” _

_ “Nah, I think you’ll be fine.” Bruce pushed himself up, yawning and stretching and fumbling for his slippers. _

_ “How do you know?” _

_ Bruce stooped down, pressing a kiss to the crown of Dick’s hair. “Because by the time he gets back, the two of us will have cleared up all the evidence.” _

_ “The two of us? But, B, it’s your birthday—” _

_ “Dickie, if it’s my birthday, then I should get to do what I want, right?” _

_ Dick shifted, frowning. “I guess, but—” _

_ “Okay, well what I want to do is hang out with you. And maybe we can finish making breakfast. Together. That sounds really, really great to me.” _

_ “You sure?” Dick asked. “You don’t have to, Bruce. I can do it.” _

_ “Absolutely sure.” _

_ “But Bruce…” Dick trailed off, staring off to the side. _

_ “What is it, chum?” _

_ “Do you even know how to make breakfast?” _

_ “Hm. Well,  _ no, _ but between the two of us, I bet we can figure it out, right?” _

_ Dick beamed up at him. “Right!” _

_ Alfred found them thirty minutes later, both sitting on the kitchen floor with flour in their hair and egg on the ceiling, laughing and throwing blueberries for the other to catch in their mouth. Bruce’s first birthday present that day was a stern lecture from Alfred. _

* * *

Dick is a pro at making breakfast for Dami. Put cheerios in a bowl—check. Put blueberries in a bowl—check. Put yogurt in a bowl—check. Put milk in a sippy cup—check.

He is an excellent breakfast chef, at least according to Damian who is happily munching on his favorite cereal and kicking his tiny little legs in his chair. Zitka sits at the table with them, a handful of cheerios in front of her at Damian’s insistence. Dick reaches over and snags a blueberry from Dami’s bowl before tossing it into the air and catching it in his mouth. 

Damian squeals in delight. “’Gain! Do it ’gain!”

Dick grins and grabs three more berries, tossing them in the air and chowing down in quick succession. He bows dramatically, still chewing, while Damian laughs and claps loudly.

“Thank you, thank you.”

“Me now?” Dami asks, opening his mouth wide.

Dick chuckles. “Sorry, babybird. Don’t want you to choke.”

Damian pouts, but Dick shakes his bowl of cheerios and the kid gets distracted with his own food again. 

“Smu,” Damian says, or at least he says something like that, though it’s incomprehensible around a handful of cereal.

“Huh?”

“Smoke,” he repeats, frowning. His tiny finger points somewhere behind Dick for a moment before he turns back to his task. Dick whips around, and there is indeed smoke curling up from his pan of scrambled eggs. 

“Aw crap!” He runs over, yanking the pan off of the stove and frantically begins waving the smoke away before it can set off the fire alarm.

“Crap,” Damian repeats.

“Don’t—” Dick frowns. Are kids allowed to say crap? It’s not like he said shit or anything. Or fuck. He’s already a little scared of when the kid learns to properly say his name—he is not looking forward to having to explain to little old ladies out and about why his kid is repeatedly screaming the word “ _ Dick.”  _ Maybe he should just pick his battles and let the kid say crap; it’s not gonna kill anyone.

He’ll have to start watching his language though. Damian’s really been going through a phase where he repeats the stuff Dick says.

“What do you think, Dami?” He scrapes the eggs onto his plate. They’re slightly burnt but they still look plenty edible to him. “Think these’ll poison me if I eat them?”

“Yeah!” 

Dick takes a bite. Could be a lot worse. “You have no faith in me, little D. No faith at all.”

He should’ve made pancakes. He’s a whiz at pancakes, but he can’t eat them every day. Alfred is very insistent about his protein and mineral intake. Apparently, if Dick were truly left to his own devices, he would never eat a balanced meal in his life. It’s not his fault that carbs are so delicious. Damian must agree, what with the sheer volume of cheerios the kid consumes, although Dick prefers his own cereal in the form of Lucky Charms or Cinnamon Toast Crunch. (He’s trying to set a healthy example for Damian, though so he only eats those after he puts the kid to bed.)

“Don’t forget your yogurt, lil D.” Dick points at the neglected bowl in between bites of egg. 

Damian scowls and protests this by dropping his spoon on the ground. 

Dick grabs another one and holds it out to him. “If you eat your yogurt, Dami, then I’ll let you feed cheerios to the rest of your stuffed animals…” It means that he’ll have to wash Damian’s sheets again after the crumbs inevitably get everywhere, but it’ll be worth it to not once again have to play this game where he gives Damian a spoon and then he throws it on the floor and then he gives him another spoon and then they repeat that cycle until they run out of spoons and/or Damian throws his yogurt at Dick.

Damian grabs the spoon and shoves a heaping bite of yogurt into his mouth.

* * *

_ “Hm, what do you think, Bruce?” _

_ Bruce spit toothpaste into the sink and turned to look at Dick. He was beaming, rocking back and forth on his toes, proudly sporting his new Superman hoodie. _

_ Bruce scowled. “Hn. On my birthday, Dick? That’s cruel.” _

_ Dick laughed, bubbly and bright and betraying just a hint of his mischievous nature. After taking just a few seconds more to bask in his guardian’s betrayed face, he stripped off the sweatshirt to reveal a slightly-crumpled yellow and black Batman t-shirt. _

_ “I totally got you!” _

_ “You did.” Bruce set down his toothbrush and lunged for the ten-year-old. Dick’s cackles rose in both volume and pitch as Bruce sought his revenge in the form of relentless tickling. “I can’t believe I’m raising an evil mastermind.” _

_ “Of course I’m gonna wear my Batman shirt, B. It’s not Uncle Clark’s birthday.” Dick’s voice was still breathy from all the laughing, his smile never fading.  _

_ Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Clark must have a lot of birthdays then.” _

_ Dick rolled his eyes, scooping up the discarded hoodie. “It’s not like I can wear Batman stuff all the time, B. People might get suspicious.” _

_ “If you were a fan of Batman?” _

_ “Yep.” _

_ “I think you’d be okay.” _

_ “Better safe than sorry, right though B?” _

_ He sighed. “I guess. But does it have to be Superman?” _

_ “Who would you prefer? Green Arrow? Green Lantern?” _

_ “Hn.” _

_ “Besides, Superman’s your favorite superhero too, B.” _

_ “He is not.” _

_ “Sure he is.” _

_ “Is not.” _

_ “Yeah? Then who is? You can’t say Batman.” Dick grinned up at Bruce, proud and smug, as if he’d won already. Yeah, well Bruce was about to knock his socks off.  _

_ “Hmm.” He made a show of deliberating, tapping a finger on his chin and gazing thoughtfully at the ceiling. “I’m a big fan of Robin.” _

_ Dick’s eyes went wide and Bruce took advantage of his surprise to reach down and scoop him up, holding him under his arm like a sack of flour. Dick yelped, then spluttered in protest, but Bruce ignored him, carrying him down the stairs with ease. By the time they reached the dining room, Dick had given up, going limp and allowing himself to be manhandled. _

_ Alfred raised a single eyebrow but didn’t say anything as Bruce deposited him into his seat and ruffled his hair before sitting down himself. _

_ “Is Robin really your favorite?” Dick asked later in between bites of his food. “You weren’t just teasing me?” _

_ “Without a doubt.” _

_ “Oh.” Dick appeared suddenly in front of him and wrapped his thin arms around Bruce’s neck, head pressed close enough for Bruce to smell his coconut-scented shampoo, the one that Dick picked out because he liked the smiling monkey on the bottle, even though it was some sort of 3-in-1 monstrosity. Bruce held him tighter, a hand coming up to cup the back of his head while the other wound around his tiny torso. “You’re my favorite too, B. Even when I’m wearing my Superman shirts.” _

_ “Yeah?” _

_ “Uh huh. You’re the best, B.” _

_ (Bruce didn’t get teary-eyed, don’t be absurd—he is a fearsome vigilante with no feelings—and he certainly didn’t have to swallow down any sort of lump of emotions in his throat before he could talk. Everything was perfectly fine; he wasn’t completely floored by Dick saying something like that so matter-of-fact, like it was indisputable. Like it was true. He was perfectly cool and collected as always.) _

_ “Thank you, chum. I—Thank you.” _

_ Dick nodded and pulled back. They smiled at each other (because Dick’s smile was infectious and he couldn’t just ignore it, legally) and Dick scooted gently back into his own seat, returning to his pancakes.  _

_ “Happy birthday, B.” _

* * *

Dick’s hand covered Damian’s as he helped him guide the toothbrush around in his mouth. Damian is too stubborn now to just open his mouth and let Dick brush his teeth for him. He was adamant that he could do it himself, albeit with a little guidance.

Damian stands on his little stool by the sink, but he’s still barely tall enough to see much of himself in the mirror. Dick has never been tall for his own age, but he doesn’t remember ever being as small as Damian is now. Even though he’s grown so much from the tiny baby Dick first met, he’s still so unbelievably tiny. It makes Dick want to scoop him up and hold him all the time. 

His parents would have just started introducing him to the trapeze at this age. That thought is accompanied by a sudden urge to teach Damian everything he knows. They don’t have a trapeze, but there’s one at the Manor, and tumbling is something Damian could certainly start to do. Dick used to tumble all around the Manor, and at least here there’s certainly fewer antique family heirlooms to accidentally crash into and break. 

Maybe next weekend he’ll push back the couch and lay some mats down in the living room. That could be fun.

(It’s become a tricky line to walk. On one hand, he’s always wanted to share his own pieces of his first family with his new one. He’s always had plans to take Bruce and Alfred and Jason and Damian to the circus and show his little brothers how to fly. But now, with Bruce gone, it feels like he’s trying to replace him in Damian’s life. He wants Damian to know his father, to be a Wayne like he deserves—even if he’s legally a Grayson now.

Damian has a lot of family to learn about. Dick can only hope that he can do Bruce justice.)

“What should I wear today, Dami?” Dick peers down into his shirt drawer. 

Damian toddles over to stand next to him. A grubby finger shoots out, pointing at his shirt of choice. “B’man!”

“You think so?” Dick pulls the shirt from the drawer. It's one of his favorites: soft, faded yellow with a big black bat on the chest. 

“Uh huh,” Damian nods. “B’man.”

Dick smiles, feeling the soft material between his fingers. “Yeah, I think so too. Good choice, little D. What are you gonna wear today?”

“B’man,” Damian says sagely. “Match.”

Dick nods. “An excellent choice, Dami.” 

He rifles around in Damian’s dresser until he finds Damian’s favorite sweatshirt. It’s soft and black and the hood has little ears like the cowl. Damian wears it a lot, and sometimes Dick likes to wear his matching Superman hoodie and they pretend to fight bad guys together. 

(Damian doesn’t understand why Dick and Jason think it’s so funny when Superman Dick calls Batman Damian his best friend, but he giggles along just to be included. This usually leads to Dick scooping his baby brother up and smooching his chubby little baby cheeks; Damian’s half-hearted protests just add to the reality of it all. Jason took a picture of the scene last time (complete with a scowling Bruce in the background). They sent it to Clark, and Dick is pretty sure he’s seen the picture stuck up on the fridge in his apartment.

There’s not a lot of pictures of Bruce up in Dick and Damian’s apartment, and he’s ready now to change that. Besides, Damian should know what his dad looks like, and Dick knows all too well how it feels to start forgetting a parent’s face.

Maybe he’ll ask Clark for a copy of that one, to get things started.)

* * *

_ Dick was really nervous for Bruce’s first birthday since coming to live at the Manor. He’d wanted to get the man a really good present, to show how thankful he was that Bruce took him in.  _

_ But what kind of gift are you supposed to get when you’re an eight-year-old buying for a multi-millionaire whose bedroom is bigger than your whole family’s trailer? _

_ He begged Alfred for help. The older man had informed him that Bruce wouldn’t care what he gave him—he would be delighted that Dick put thought into getting something for him, and no matter what would be extremely pleased with whatever gift Dick gave him. _

_ It didn’t help. Dick was still stressed about finding the perfect gift, so he put on his best puppy dog eyes and begged some more. Alfred relented, and the two of them went shopping. _

_ It took nearly a week of searching, but Dick eventually settled on a new tie. _

_ “He can wear it to work,” Dick said, while Alfred helped him box it up. “That way it’s a gift that he can really use.” _

_ “An excellent choice, Master Dick.” Dick beamed.  _

_ Despite his earlier confidence in his choice, the nerves resurfaced with a vengeance when Dick actually presented the gift to Bruce. _

_ “Chum,” he said, “you didn’t have to get me anything.” _

_ “But I wanted to. I hope you like it, and I’m real sorry if you don’t.” _

_ (Alfred had spoken with Bruce earlier that day about this very gift.  _

_ “Master Bruce, no matter what opinion you wind up holding for his gift to you, you must at least tell him that you love it. The young master has spent hours agonizing over what to get for you. He only wants to get you something special. It is most admirable.” _

_ “Alfred, don’t be ridiculous. What am I going to say, that I hate it? Surely you don’t think I’m  _ that _ cruel. Do you?” _

_ “Of course not, but that boy is ridiculously adept at reading people, and you in particular.” Bruce grimaced in understanding.  _

_ “Look, the fact that he worked this hard, for me? That’s more than enough. He could give me a box of live cockroaches and I’ll be touched.” _

_ Alfred nodded. “Good. That’s good. And I can assure you that the gift is free from any sort of insects, living or dead.” _

_ “Thank god.”) _

_ Bruce carefully unwrapped the present while Dick bounced nervously on his knees next to him. It was a tie, which Bruce extracted from the tissue paper with a sort of reverency. It hit him suddenly that there was someone in his life now that put this much time and thought into getting him a gift, and that was better than anything all of his money could buy. _

_ The tie was teal and covered with an odd smattering of orange and purple birds, the colors clashing horribly. In summary, the tie was butt-ugly. _

_ (Which is something that Dick would freely admit once he got older, but that never stopped Bruce from breaking it out every now and then. _

_ “That thing is hideous, Bruce. I can’t believe you’re wearing it.” _

_ “How dare you, Dick. Someone very special got this for me, and I won’t let you insult it.”) _

_ But Bruce loved it. Dick got it for him, and was worth more than anything. Plus, it would be fun to watch the faces of the Board of Directors when they saw it. He couldn’t wait to ask them what they thought about the tie Dickie got for him and watch them flounder. _

_ “Thank you, Dick.” He tugged the boy in for a side hug, Dick’s small form slotting easily against his side. “I love it.” _

_ Dick smiled, bringing his arms up to hug him back with ferocity. “Yay,” he mumbled happily into Bruce’s chest. _

_ Bruce wore the tie every day for the rest of the month.  _

* * *

Dick already bought Bruce a present this year. He got it back before Bruce died, well in advance since their schedules didn’t allow for a ton of free time to do things like go birthday shopping. It’s two ties, one tacky and one actually nice, a continuation of their accidental birthday tradition. Both ties are shoved away, in their box, under Dick’s bed to collect dust. 

He’ll have to eventually figure out what to do with them. Maybe he’ll take them to Bruce’s grave, maybe he’ll save them and give them to Damian when he’s older.

He’s not sure, so he pushes the thought out of his mind. They’ll have to sit for a little while longer.

* * *

_ Dick cheered, jumping up and down in a circle and pumping his arms in the air. _

_ “Woot woot! Go Dick go!” He lunged, pointing at Bruce with a slightly manic grin and flushed cheeks. “It’s 5-4, old man. Beat that!” _

_ Bruce’s expression morphed into a scowl that was somehow both fond and irritated. Bruce was competitive, he hated to lose. Too bad Dick was the same way, and had the advantage of being a twelve-year-old with boundless energy and fewer joint problems. As good as he was at kicking bad guy ass, their highly competitive game of soccer wasn’t doing Bruce’s knees any favors. _

_ Also he was beginning to regret having trained  _ this _ good of an aim into Dick. Sure, it was great when he was chuckling batarangs at thugs, but it had made Dick just a little too hard to beat at soccer. There was a time when Bruce had to let Dick win. Ah, the good old days. His kid was going to be better than him at practically everything before he even started driving, and that thought sent an angry mixture of pride and jealousy stabbing through his gut. _

_ It was a lot easier to focus on the pride part when Dick grinned like that. _

_ Their noses and cheeks were painted red by the cold winter air, but as long as Dick’s lips weren’t tinged with blue, then they were in the clear to stay outside and play. Dick had even shed his jacket a while back, leaving it in a heap on the grass for Alfred to pick up with a disapproving glare. Bruce had taken advantage of his sheepish apology to score a point on Dick. A bit of a low blow, but he hadn’t felt too bad. It  _ was _ his birthday after all. _

_ Bruce smirked, rolling his shoulders back and dramatically cracking his knuckles. It made Dick laugh; the kid thought it was hilarious when his guardian acted like the drama queen he really is. _

_ “Oh, you asked for it, Dickie. You’re on.” _

_ Dick’s grin was practically vicious. “Bring it, B.” _

_ He made a mental note to double check Dick for the meta gene—no way was that stupid, infectious laugh not some sort of superpower. _

* * *

Damian is laying on his tummy, kicking his feet in the air as he colors. He fumbles around in his bin of crayons before settling on a nice dark green. The scene on the page is several zoo animals, and Damian has apparently decided that the giraffe should be green. 

Dick didn’t have much patience for coloring when he was little, and if he had to engage in a quiet task he usually preferred to read, but Damian loves to color, and he tends to get upset if Dick doesn’t join him. Dick flops down on the carpet beside his brother, mimicking his position and getting to work on filling in a bouquet of flowers.

It’s nice. Damian is fresh from his nap, awake enough to not be grumpy but still drowsy enough to be quiet and content. Despite the cold air outside, sun is streaming in from the window where Dick opened the blinds and Damian seeks out the spot of sun-soaked carpet like a housecat. They eat goldfish crackers together, the only sounds their quiet chewing and the dull, white-noise groan of the city outside.

It’s comfortable, if a little chilly, and Dick sits up just enough to pull a thick knit blanket down from the couch, draping it over both himself and Damian. Damian wiggles closer to him underneath it so their shoulders bump as Damian colors.

“What do you think, Dami?” Dick asks, pushing his finished picture towards Damian. Damian looks it over with careful consideration and nods once before returning to his own coloring.

Instead of starting another page, Dick shuts the coloring book and sets it aside, settling in to watch Damian. When he’s concentrating like he is now, Dami’s face scrunches up super adorably. His cheeks are all chubby with baby fat, and they make Dick really want to reach out and poke them, so he does.

Damian mostly ignores him, just tilting his head away a little bit without ever taking his eyes off of the page in front of him. Dick pokes him again, just for the fun of it.

“Stop it, Dih,” Dami huffs. “Workin.’”

“But, little D, I’m boooooored.”

Damian shushes him, covering his mouth up with his free hand. Dick pokes him in the cheek again and easily dodges the lazy smack that it earns him in return.

Damian turns now, scowl trained squarely on Dick. They sit like that for a moment, Dick grinning like a dumbass and Damian glaring adorably, then Damian reaches up and pokes Dick’s cheek. He grins, clearly proud of himself for turning the tables on his big brother as Dick splutters in exaggerated indignance. Now satisfied that Dick has been put in his place, Damian returns to coloring. He lets Dick play with his hair though; it’s better than getting poked.

* * *

_ “...Happy birthday to you!”  _

_ The singing was off-key and too loud, but Dick’s grin outshone all twenty-seven candles on Bruce’s double chocolate cake. It had been a while anyway since that sort of livelihood graced the Manor, and after years of silence, the sound of a child’s singing was bound to be nearly deafening. _

_ Bruce smiled and ruffled Dick’s hair. “Thank you, chum. That was very nice.” Behind him, having just set down the cake, Alfred was clearly struggling not to match Dick’s beaming smile. He had to maintain a proper air of decorum after all. _

_ Dick cocked his hip out, expressing morphing closer to something like exasperation. “You gotta blow out the candles, B.”  _

_ “Of course.” Bruce made a move to before he was swiftly interrupted by the same person who’d insisted he blow them out in the first place. _

_ “Don’t forget to make a wish though!” _

_ “Right.” Bruce nodded. “Of course.” _

_ “But you can’t tell me what it is!” Dick exclaimed. “Or it won’t come true. Alfred either!” _

_ He nodded again, and after a moment’s hesitation blew out all twenty-seven candles in one go. _

_ “What did you wish for?” Dick asked. _

_ Bruce eyed him. “You just said I couldn’t tell you.” _

_ “Oh yeah.” Dick smiled sheepishly. “Just testing you?” _

_ “Uh huh.” _

_ “Sorry!” He pouted. “I’m just curious is all.” _

_ “Well, I guess I can tell you if you really want me to…” _

_ Dick’s eyes grew wide. “No don’t! I was just kidding, B. Really. Don’t tell me. I want your wish to come true.” _

_ “Alright then. You want some cake, Dickie?” _

_ “Yes please! You get the first piece though, B, since it’s your birthday.” _

_ “So many rules.” _

_ “Yep. But they’re important.” _

_ “Well I have a rule of my own: sit in your seat properly, chum. I don’t want you to spill anything.” _

_ "Oops." _

* * *

He’s felt a little bit all day like he might cry. It lingers there, in the backs of his eyes and the top of his throat, cold and uncomfortable, but familiar. It’s faded a lot, he can get through most days without incident (nightmares don’t count—they predate Bruce’s death anyways), even if this date is a tough one. He’s already been through this once before, and it’s true. The hurt, the sharp pains, they fade with time. They flare up on days like this one, but Dick is no stranger to the grieving process. It’s still so hard, but he knows. He’s been through this before, and he’ll probably go through it again.

They’re curled up on the couch together, under the same blanket from earlier. Damian is still slowly picking at the last crumbs of his double chocolate cupcake and there’s a smudge of icing on his cheek. Dick considers wiping it off, but that would require getting up and getting a napkin, and he really doesn’t want to let go of the kid on his lap.

It’s gone dark outside, and now the room is illuminated solely by the flickering colors of the TV as Damian’s cartoons play in the background. They have to get up soon—put Damian in his pjs and brush his teeth, get him settled in with a story and Zitka next to his heart. But all of that requires movement that Dick isn’t particularly inclined towards right now.

“Your Baba loved you,” Dick whispers into Damian’s soft hair. “He loves you so, so much.”

And Dick holds his baby brother close, squeezing tight as his heart aches for a million different reasons but mainly because he loves this kid to pieces and there’s no way to adequately express it, no way for Damian to understand. He holds his kid so close and so tight and presses gentle kiss after gentle kiss to the crown of his hair.

“Baba,” Damian echoes. Dick’s eyes are shut, so he misses the way Damian stares up at him with wide green eyes and adoration plain on his face. “Baba.”

_ Happy birthday, Bruce. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jason isn't here because I don't think he'd be as good at the whole quiet day in thing for Bruce's birthday. It just doesn't seem like his style. I imagine he's pretty angry when he's upset, which is honestly not the best environment for a kid Damian's age. He and Alfred are doing their own thing at the manor though and they talk on the phone with Dick and Damian for a solid hour and a half.
> 
> Comments and kudos are my lifeblood, and I’m hoping to be better about replying to comments, so stop in and talk to me!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you really wanted to be Nightwing, we could find a way. We’d figure something out. Just say the word.”

Being a  ~~ parent ~~ guardian is  _ tiring, _ and every day Dick feels a little bad for how exhausted Bruce must have been. And nine-year-old Dick had had significantly more hyperactive energy than Damian.

Wally is a lifesaver, running over whenever Dick is desperate for a break, whenever he needs some semblance of his old life back. Without Bruce or Robin or the Manor or the Team, it’s been hard to get his bearings as the whole world shifts around him. Wally is an anchor. 

“How are you doing?” Wally asks one night, perched on Dick’s kitchen counter and scarfing down the entire box of donuts he brought for the both of them. He didn’t say as much, but Dick suspects that Jason may have texted Wally after Dick’s Robin freak out. “You know, your usual night time activities?”

“Ew, Wally. Don’t word it like that. Gross.”

Wally rolls his eyes. “So not what I meant and you know it, dude.”

Dick sighs and picks at the one jelly donut he managed to snag, rolling a crumb between his thumb and pointer finger. “I miss Robin,” he says slowly, “but it’s not the same without B.” That’s an understatement. It _ hurts, _ being Robin without Batman, like someone is twisting an ice cold knife in his chest. “It’s Batman  _ and  _ Robin, you know? The Dynamic Duo.” He hops up on the counter to sit beside Wally, passing him the now nearly-empty donut box.

Wally nods slowly, chewing loudly as he hesitates. “What about Nightwing?” 

Dick blinks. Honestly, he hasn’t thought about Nightwing since before Bruce died. He’d been on his way out of Robin for a while, clearing the way for Jason to take on his family’s legacy while Dick finally stepped out of Batman’s shadow. 

(Somehow, that shadow feels even bigger now, swallowing Robin completely. Robin would never really make it out.)

“Huh.”

Wally shrugs. “Yell at me to shut up if I’m out of line,” he adds quickly, “but maybe that’s the solution. You still fly, and it makes you feel closer to your parents _ and _ to Bruce, because honestly, the biggest thing you shared with Bruce was dressing up as furries and kicking ass.” Dick snorts and knocks his shoulder hard into Wally’s. His best friend feigns hurt but doesn’t let it dissuade him. “I’m serious, dude. I know you miss doing that with him, and I know you miss doing it for yourself. You’re a natural hero, Dick, and I don’t think you’ll ever be truly happy if you just get rid of that part of yourself. Maybe Nightwing is a way to keep Bruce close, to carry on Batman’s mission, but not be… Robin, because I know that’s just too much right now.”

Dick stares at him, completely dumbfounded. 

“No?” Wally asks, looking increasingly nervous. “Oh God. I’m sorry. I should’ve just kept my gigantic mouth shut. I’m sorry—”

“No! No, Wally, don’t be sorry. You’re right. Honestly, that sounds… That sounds really good…”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I—I think I would want to be Nightwing. I’m just now realizing how bad I want to be Nightwing. But—” He watches as Wally’s giant grin dissolves instantly. “Damian.”

“Damian,” Wally repeats with a sigh.

“I can’t leave him.” He doesn’t specify whether that means leaving him at night to patrol the streets or if it means the bigger, more permanent leaving, the one he’s now painfully, horribly aware is a potential reality. If something happens to him, if he doesn’t come back, Damian will be alone. The thought makes his heart pound and his hands shake. 

“Well, we miss you, dude. Like crazy.”

The Team. His heart aches for them. Wally’s the only one he’s really seen much of since Bruce died, except the couple times Artemis tracked him down. The others might not even know Damian exists.

“I’m sorry, Walls. I miss you too. All of you. And I hate leaving you out there without a partner.” They’re all a team, but he and Wally have been looking out for each other since they were eleven and thirteen. They would have taken a bullet for each other, no hesitation, the thought of which terrifies Dick now. If he ever lost Wally, he’s not sure he’d be able to move on from that. It just might kill him.

Wally smiles, but it’s sad. “Hey, don’t worry about me. The Wallman’s doing just fine.”

“I always worry about you.” And then, because he feels like he’s heading into the territory of getting a little too sappy, even by his own tastes, he adds, “You do stupid stuff when I’m not around.”

Wally laughs. “We’ve done plenty of stupid stuff together, man. Plenty.”

Dick grins back. “I know. And I do miss it.”

Wally sobers up a bit, although his grin lingers. “In all seriousness though, bro, if you really wanted to be Nightwing, we could find a way. We’d figure something out. Just say the word.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course, dude. You know I’m here for you.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he says, then takes advantage of Wally’s distraction and dopey grin to pluck the last bite of chocolate donut from his hand and shove it in his mouth.

“Hey!” Wally exclaims, looking scandalized. 

Dick shushes him with his mouth full, grinning. “Dami’s sleeping.” Wally scowls, but goes quiet. “What?” He swallows, then smirks. “You said you wanted to help me.”

“I would do anything for you, but touching my food crosses a line, bro. You know that.”

Dick shrugs. “I should feel bad, but you know what? I don’t.”

“Cruel. Heartless. Why do I put up with you?”

Dick tilts over, leaning his head heavily on Wally’s shoulder and grinning up at him like a goof. “Because you looooooove me.”

“You doofus.”

“Excuse me, there is only one doofus in this apartment and it is  _ not  _ me.”

“Dick, I cannot believe you would call Damian a doofus.”

“Takes one to know one, Walls.”

“You would know.”

Dick frowns. “I think you confused yourself.”

“I may have.” Wally nods. “Maybe we should just agree that we’re both a little bit of a doofus.”

“Sounds good.” 

They sit in comfortable silence for a while, just enjoying each other’s company. Dick has to admit, it’s really nice to be around someone else his age. He really mostly just sees his coworkers, who are several years older and tend to ignore him, and Damian and the kids at the daycare. He and Wally have never had to work at being in each other’s company, since the day they met, eleven and thirteen when life was so much simpler. His friendship with Wally is the only thing that really feels simple anymore. 

“You’re the bigger doofus though,” Wally mumbles, but Dick is too content to argue.

* * *

“Coming!” Dick yells, as the rapid-fire knocking on his door continues. Normally he’d never be so cavalier about opening the door in Gotham, but no one who isn’t a speedster knocks like that.

“Would you settle down? He said he’s coming,” he hears, muffled through the door, and Dick grins wide, tugging the door open.

“So impatient. Geez, Walls.”

Wally speeds in, making way for a very irritated and slightly queasy-looking Jason. The look he gives Dick makes him feel like he’s been magically transformed into one of the camera’s on the Office, and he struggles not to burst out laughing.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I’m excited! Nightwing!” Wally pumps his fists. “Making his grand debut! Also, I’m  _ starving. _ Snack time!” He vanishes in a blur, off to raid Dick’s pantry.

“Don’t eat Damian’s goldfish!” Dick calls after him before turning to his younger brother. The green is very slowly fading from his face. “You okay, Jay?”

Jason’s scowl deepens. “Next time, please specify to Kid Idiot here to pick me up in a  _ car. _ I hate traveling by speedster.”

“Takes some getting used to,” Dick agrees. 

“I don’t want to get used to it.”

“Diiiiiiick,” Wally whines, running back in with a box of crackers tucked under one arm, “your family is mean to me.”

“Oh, that was nothing, West. Try me.”

Wally whimpers. “Is this _still_ about the cake thing?”

“No, but we can talk about that too if you want.”

“No thank you!”

The rest of the squabble is interrupted by the pitter patter of tiny socked feet and Dick turns just in time to see Damian toddle in. He comes to a stop by Dick’s legs, staring up at Wally.

“Hey, Dami.” Dick smiles, reaching down to scoop the kid up and settle him on his hip. He’s just woken up from his nap, hair still rumpled and pillow creases imprinted on his cheek. “Have a good nap?”

“Uh huh.”

“Can you say hi to Wally and Jay?”

“Uh huh.”

They sit in silence, waiting for the hi, but Damian just blinks at them. 

“Alright then,” Dick says when he ignores Jason’s wave and Wally’s cooed  _ hey there, bud. _ “We’ll blame that on the nap.”

“You gotta be more specific I guess, Dickiebird,” Jay grins. “Who knew _this_ is what they meant by the terrible twos.”

“I don’t think that’s what they mean.”

“Whatever.” Jason steps forward, taking Damian from Dick and depositing him on his shoulders. Damian giggles and tugs at Jason’s hair. “This is why I’m his favorite.” Jay smirks, taking hold of Damian’s hands to keep them from pulling his hair.

Dick cocks his head to the side thoughtfully. “You think if we had a higher ceiling you could get on my shoulders like that? Maybe we could go outside. Or do it at the Manor? No, Alfie would kill us.” He nods once. “Outside.”

“No, no, no,” Wally interrupts. “Terrible idea.”

He scowls. “When did you become the wet blanket?"

"I'm here to babysit. I'm babysitting."

"Jay, will you cover Dami's eyes so I can flip Wally off?"

Jason does, and Wally's squawk of indignation could probably shatter glass.

* * *

“If Dami gets out of bed, just read him a story. Don’t try and do the voices though, even if he asks, because you won’t do them right and that’ll just rile him up.”

“Got it.” Wally nods.

“You do silly voices?” Jason asks, raising an eyebrow. Dick ignores him.

“If the story isn’t working you guys can watch some cartoons. That’ll knock him back out. Jay, try not to stay up too late.”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“Just a friendly suggestion. I’ll be back by 3:30, promise.”

“If you’re even a minute late, I’m coming after you,” Wally says. “And if you need me, don’t hesitate to call. I swear to god, Dick, I know what you’re like.”

That’s the whole point of having both Jay and Wally here right now. As much as Dick hates the idea of being babysat, he’s not going to risk it. As important as this is to him, he has something even more important to come home to.

“I know, Walls. I promise. But I’ll be fine.” He grins. “I got this.”

Jason gives him a thumbs up. “Cool. I’m gonna go watch TV now, cool?”

“Love you too, Jaybird.”

With one final salute, Nightwing presses on his mask, pulls out his grapple gun, and leaps out the window. It already feels so good to fly.

* * *

Being Nightwing is so different from being Robin. The lack of cape is just a physical weight off his shoulders to match to psychological one. It’s electrifying, flying through the city again. 

Rebirth. Renewal.

He’s not in Batman’s shadow, he’s not one half of something. 

He’s his own hero, a combination of everything he’s been through. It’s the Flying Graysons and Batman and Superman and every single thing that’s shaped him, that’s inspired him to fight. It feels right. This is who he's supposed to be now.

Three attempted muggings, two drug busts, and one group of drunk teenagers sent home later, Nightwing finds himself outside of Gotham City Bank, a group of six robbers on the ground in varying degrees of consciousness.

“Who even are you?” one of the guys groans as Nightwing finishes zip-tying him to a railing.

“I could ask the same thing,” a voice calls out. Nightwing turns, face lighting up as he spots Commissioner Gordon crossing the street toward him. “I know the Justice League has been patrolling these streets recently, but I can’t say I recognize you from the lineup.”

He straightens up, turning his grin on the Commissioner. It’s instinct; gotta make up for Batman’s gloomy self. “Aw, I’m hurt, Commish. Don’t you recognize me?”

His eyes narrow, silently appraising Nightwing, but Dick can see the recognition as it hits. “Robin?”

Nightwing beams brighter. “Got it in one!” he says, tapping the side of his nose. “Although, technically it’s Nightwing now.”

“Nightwing,” he repeats slowly, feeling out the word.

“Yep.”

“So you’re the one responsible for the thirty-two perps we’ve picked up tonight.”

“Thirty-eight now,” he says, gesturing toward the six guys on the ground. “Sorry, it’s a bit of a slow night.”

That makes the commissioner crack a smile. “Yeah, you’re definitely Robin.”

“I can prove it. You want me to do a backflip?”

“That’s okay, kid. I believe you.”

“Well, I’d love to stay and chat, Commish, but I’ve got somewhere to be. Let your men know that Nightwing is gonna be around from now on!”

“Wait—”

B had it right. It's pretty fun to leave the Commissioner hanging.

(And he knows part of Bruce just did it for the drama, even if he would never admit it.)

* * *

Dick climbs in through the window, latching it behind him. It’s dark and practically silent in the apartment, but he can see blue light from the TV in the other room. He follows it, not quite sure what scene he’s expecting to be waiting for him, but what he does see makes him pause, warmth blossoming in his chest.

Wally is conked out on the couch, his head tipped back in a position that will surely hurt like hell in the morning. In any other circumstance, Dick would do something about it, either wake him up or slip a pillow under his head, but he doesn’t want to risk messing up the rest of the scene. Curled up on Wally’s chest, his bony knees probably digging uncomfortably into Wally’s stomach, is Damian. He has Zitka under one arm while the other has Wally’s t-shirt in a death grip. Wally has one arm around Damian, the other hanging off the couch, just brushing the hair across Jason’s forehead where he’s slumped on the floor, back against the couch, blanket the probably used to be over top of Wally and Damian tugged down to cocoon around him so his head is just barely visible. 

Dick creeps silently across the carpet, settling down on the floor next to Jason. He’s careful not to brush up against Jason, but Jason has his own reasons for being just as hyper-aware as the Bat himself and he stirs almost immediately.

“Hey.” Jason blinks over at him sleepily, yawning and scratching at his chin. 

“Hey, bud. Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Jason shrugs. “Didn’t exactly mean to fall asleep.”

“How was your night? Did Dami give Wally any trouble?”

He shakes his head. “He was all scowly, but he’s always like that with West.” 

True. Dick blames their first meeting, when Wally had decided that the best way to try and impress a cranky baby was to speed him around the Manor. Damian, much like his father, has very little patience for speedsters, and continues to hold the event against Wally to this day. 

Although maybe they’re on their way to forgiveness, just based on their current position. He glances back to see that neither of them have even moved a muscle.

Dick hums in agreement. “Could be a lot worse.”

“How was patrol?” Jason asked.

He grins wide. “To be completely honest, it was fucking amazing. It felt really good to get back out there. Really,  _ really _ good.”

“Do you miss someone watching your back?”

The question throws Dick off a bit, but he nods slowly. “Of course,” he says softly, voice suddenly scratchy. “But it was…  _ different _ this time from when I tried to go out as Robin. Nightwing is something new, but it feels right.”

“Would you…” Jason hesitates, and his voice has gone so soft that if Dick weren’t a Bat, he probably wouldn’t have been able to even hear him. “Would you want someone to watch your back? A partner?”

“Jay…”

“I could be a good Robin,” he says, voice still soft but suddenly fierce. Defensive. “Or… or I could use a different name, it’s just… you know,  _ Robin. _ It’s  _ Robin. _ And I was training, ya know, before. What was even the point in training me? Do you… do you not think I can do it? I  _ can, _ Dick, I know I can. I know it.”

“I know—”

“And if it’s about the name, I’ll be someone else. Bat Kid or something, even though that’s really, really stupid.”

“I created Robin for my mom and dad, to honor them, to keep them close. It meant family. Robin means family, Jaybird. That’s  _ you,  _ of course that’s you.”

“Then why—”

“Just let me get my feet under me first okay? There’s a lot changing.”

“I know,” Jason croaks. “I’m sorry.”

“No, Jay, no. It’s okay. I know exactly what it feels like. I get it.” He doesn’t know how to put into words that feeling, that fire raging behind his ribcage, the one that sent him running around dark Gotham streets before he even donned the cape and mask. But he  _ gets it. _

Jason nods, sniffling just once. He tucks his nose into the blanket draped over his knees and for a moment Dick is terrified he might start crying, but it never goes beyond shining eyes and rapid-fire blinks.

“I promise, kiddo. If this is what you need to do, we’ll figure something out.” He can already tell that this is what Jason wants though. He’d wanted to be in the field even before everything went down. He already had the spark of a hero; Bruce’s death just fanned the fire, and just like nine-year-old Dick, if they don’t give it a proper outlet—a real chance—Jason’s going to take it upon himself, and no way is Dick letting his baby brother out alone. “Just give me a little time. There’s gonna be a lot of training though,” he warns. Jason didn’t have years of experience as a world-class acrobat. It wouldn’t be easy. They couldn’t afford to go easy.

Jason nods. “I won’t let you down.”

“I know, Jaybird. You could never let me down.” He settles in closer, snagging a corner of the blanket and shoving his feet under Jason’s legs. “Never.”

Jason wrinkles his nose. “Again with the sleeping in the living room still in costume, Dickie? Is this going to become a pattern?”

Dick chuckles quietly. “Nah. I’ll get up and shower in a minute.” He leans his head over on Jason’s shoulder. “Let me have this, okay?”

Jason presses closer and the warmth in Dick’s chest blossoms. “Yeah, yeah. Last time though, you hear me? We really can’t keep doing this.”

“Course not, Little Wing. I’m not ridiculous.”

“That name is ridiculous.”

“I like it. You know you love it.”

“Go shower, Big Bird.”

"Big Bird and Little Wing."

"Dork."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not as much dick and dami bonding but next up: timmy makes his grand appearance


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m Tim,” the boy says, standing up and holding out his hand for Dick to shake. “Tim Drake. I’m in Jason’s math class.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for implied/referenced child neglect and abuse. there's nothing graphic but be aware!

“No chance you can suddenly learn how to write so you can text Jay for me?”

Damian’s only response is some cross between a hiccup and gurgle. Dick sighs, mentally willing the car in front of him to at least go the speed limit. Jay’s going to kill him.

He got held up at work, was late picking Damian up from daycare, and got into a whole debacle where Damian refused to let Dick tie his shoes for him, despite not knowing how to tie his shoes—why he took his shoes off in the first place is a mystery. Not to mention, it’s rush hour and Gotham traffic is a nightmare. 

Gotham Academy got out almost fifteen minutes ago, which means Jason has been standing outside the school for at least twelve.

These weekends are really important to Jason. They’re important to Dick too, and one day they’re going to be really important to Damian as well. They’re brothers, but it’s been really hard not living in the same place anymore, especially with Dami being so little. It’s important that he still gets the time to be close to Jason. 

“Finally,” Dick mutters under his breath as the Gotham Academy carpool lane comes into view. He’s late enough at this point that almost everyone has pretty much cleared out.

He pulls up in front of the school, surprised to find not one, but two kids sitting on the curb. Jason has his chin pressed firmly in his hands, scowl deep and angry. Next to him is a boy who looks almost too small to be in middle school—although Dick has no room to judge; he had been the same way. He has his backpack on his lap, hugging it loosely to his chest as he chats idly to Jason. 

Jason’s scowl only darkens as Dick parks the car and gets out, making his way toward the boys. “You’re late,” he snaps.

“I know, Jay. I’m so sorry. I got held up—”

“Whatever.” He grabs his backpack from where it’s strewn on the sidewalk and gets up, ready to stomp over to the car.

“Bye, Jason,” the boy calls, still sitting on the curb. Dick glances around, but there’s no other cars in the line. No parents here for this kid.

“Wait, Jay, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” He’s half stalling, not wanting to leave some kid alone waiting by himself, and half excited at the idea that Jason has a friend at school. Both Dick and Jason had their fair share of struggles with the culture shock of going to a preppy private school like Gotham Academy, but Jason tends to be closed off and defensive over everything. Dick would be delighted to learn that he’s making friends at school.

Jason sighs, glaring at him. 

“I’m Tim,” the boy says, standing up and holding out his hand for Dick to shake. “Tim Drake. I’m in Jason’s math class.”

“Hey, Tim. I’m Dick, Jason’s big brother.”

Tim is kind of staring at him, bouncing slightly on his toes as he shakes Dick’s hand excitedly. “I know,” he blurts out, then seems to realize what he said and grows embarrassed. “I mean… Sorry.” He grins sheepishly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Tim,” Dick says, glancing around the lifeless parking lot, “do you have someone coming to pick you up?”

“Um, I’m not actually sure, really. I think Miss Rebecca was supposed to get me, but my parents may have forgotten to tell her to come.”

“Oh. Do you know her number? I can call her for you. Or, do you have a phone?”

Tim nods, pulling a cell phone out of his backpack. “I have one, but I only have Mom and Dad in there. And Miss Vivi, but I don’t think she works for us anymore.”

“You wanna call your parents then?”

Tim shakes his head, and out of the corner of his eye, Dick can see Jason’s frown starting to grow angry. “I can’t. They’re in Egypt. They’re important archeologists.” Tim smiles as he explains, clearly proud of his parents’ careers. It doesn’t ease the confusion and worry bubbling in Dick’s gut.

“Then, can I give you a ride home?”

“I mean, you don’t have to. I can walk.”

“You’re gonna walk?” Jason asks. “In Gotham? All the way to Bristol?”

“Um…”

“No,” Jay decides for him. “Get in the car, doofus.”

“Are you sure?” Tim asks, glancing between Jason and Dick. “I don’t want to intrude. I’m really okay walking. Really. I’ve done it before.”

“It’s not a problem, Tim,” Dick says. “Really.”

“Just don’t let the Demon Brat bite you. He’s poisonous.” Jason grins wickedly.

“He is not,” Dick reprimands. “And he doesn’t bite. Often.”

“Demon Brat?” Tim asks, looking nervous. He glances over Dick’s shoulder at the still-running car. 

“Damian,” Jason explains. “Our little brother. He’s two.”

“And he won’t bite you,” Dick says. “C’mon. Do you know your address?”

Tim rattles it off, scrambling after Jason and Dick and into the car. 

“Yes,” Jay grins, sliding into the passenger seat. “Now you can’t tell me to ride in the back with Dami.”

“Is shotgun really that exciting?” Dick asks.

“You know it is, Dickhead.”

“You good back there?” Dick calls back to Tim as they start rolling. 

“Uh huh,” Tim buckles his seatbelt, watching Damian warily. Despite Jason’s warnings, Damian won’t be biting anyone. He’s asleep in his carseat, Zitka having fallen onto the floor. Tim picks it up for him, settling it back in Damian’s lap. He latches onto it in his sleep. 

They drop Tim off at a massive house without a single light on inside. It reminds Dick of the Manor back when he first came to live there, big and fancy and cold, everything neat and proper but missing any signs of life. Dick frowns, feeling almost guilty, although he isn’t sure why. When Tim disappears inside, it feels like he’s been swallowed up.

* * *

The next time Dick meets Tim, it’s at Gotham Academy’s art show.

Jason had argued over and over that it was stupid for Dick to come—it was just some stupid required elective that Jason didn’t even like very much. But Dick wanted to be supportive, plus Damian loves coloring so much, maybe he’ll enjoy an art show. 

“Yours is the best,” Dick says to Jason, grinning. His whole class had done paintings of sunflowers, and they were all hanging up in a neat row. 

Jason rolls his eyes. “If it didn’t have my name on it, you wouldn’t even know which one is mine.” Maybe. They all are really similar, but Jason is fun to tease, so Dick doesn’t care one bit.

“Oh, don’t touch that, bud.” Dick steps back, Damian on his hip, so his baby brother can’t get his grubby fingers on one of Jason’s classmates’ paintings.

“Hey, Dick!” He turns, finding Tim grinning up at him. “Hi, Damian.”

“Hi, Tim.” Dick smiles. “Do you have a sunflower too?”

“Oh no. I’m in sixth grade. Sunflowers are for the eighth-graders. We made roses though if you wanna come see?”

“I would love to. No, Dami, we can’t touch the paintings. You coming, Jay?”

Jason shrugs, and they follow Tim, weaving through displays and families until they reach the sixth-grade wall. 

“That one’s mine,” Tim points to a neatly painted rose with _Drake, T._ written in the corner. A woman is leaning against the wall, staring at her phone and generally ignoring the rest of the show. Dick wonders if she’s a parent. 

“Very nice. What do you think, Dami?”

“Pretty,” Damian agrees. Dick is barely able to keep him from grabbing at it. 

“Stop it,” he says as Tim giggles. “Very fridge-worthy, Tim.”

Tim flushes. “You think so?”

“Definitely.”

Jason huffs. “Was mine not fridge-worthy?”

“Of course it was, Jay. I told you it was great.”

“But you didn’t say fridge-worthy.”

“Fine, sorry. Yes, it’s very fridge-worthy. Should it go up at the Manor or my apartment?”

Jason scowls, arms folded tightly over his chest. “You can have it if you want,” he grumbles. 

“I’ll have to make sure I snatch it up before Alfred can get to it then. He’ll probably want to frame it.” Jason blushes bright pink, but he’d deny it even with a gun to his head, so Dick doesn’t dare tease him about it, although he really wants to. “Tim,” he redirects the conversation, turning to the younger boy, “I’m gonna take Jason out to get some ice cream after this. Would you like to join us?”

Tim turns, tugging at the sleeve of the woman leaning on the wall. “Can I?”

“Huh?” she asks, finally looking up. Dick had no idea this woman was even with Tim.

“Can I go get ice cream with Jason and his brother? They’re friends of mine.”

“Can they bring you home after?” 

“We can,” Dick says, “but you’re welcome to join us if you want, uh… I take it you’re not Mrs. Drake?”

“Rachel Bennett. I’m the housekeeper.” _A different name from when Tim got left at school,_ Dick notes. “And no thank you. He can go so long as you can bring him home after.”

“I can do that.”

“Great. Bye, Timothy.”

“Bye, Miss Rachel,” Tim calls. She waves, but doesn’t turn around.

“Okay, then,” Dick says. “Scoops?”

“Scoops,” Jason grins. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Language, Jay.”

“That wasn’t even bad. I’ve heard you say way worse!”

“Yeah, but I’m older, and we’re in a school.”

Tim giggles, looking utterly delighted by their banter as he follows them to Dick’s car.

“Dami,” Dick says as he buckles his baby brother into his car seat, “do you remember Tim? You were kinda sleepy last time you met.”

Damian shakes his head, watching Tim somewhat warily as he slides into the seat next to him and buckles his own seatbelt. 

“Hi, Dami,” Tim says. “You don’t have your elephant today?”

“Zika,” Damian says. “No.” He turns his pout on Dick, who rolls his eyes. 

“She’s waiting at home, Damian. You’ll see Zitka later.”

Damian seems wary of Tim, but he isn’t outright hostile, which is pretty much as close to a warm welcome as Damian gets. They’re only just meeting after all, and Damian doesn’t like strangers. He’s very hesitant to trust new people, but it seems like Dick’s friendliness with Tim is at least enough to let Damian give him a chance. Good, because it’s seeming more and more like they’re going to be seeing a lot more of Tim.

“Ooh, they have Robin ice cream!” Tim has to stand on his toes to see into the case, his breath fogging up the glass. 

Jason rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but it’s nasty. Strawberry, lemon, and green apple? Gross.”

Tim shrugs. “Doesn’t sound too bad to me.”

“Ugh, not another one. You and Dick—no taste.”

Tim turns to Dick, eyes wide. “Are you getting Robin ice cream too?”

“Nah. I like the Superman, but Jay thinks that's lame.”

“It’s just colorful vanilla!” Jay exclaims.

“It is not! It says it right here.” Dick stabs a finger at the label in the case. “Strawberry, banana, blue moon!”

“What on earth is blue moon?”

“I don’t know but it’s not vanilla so ha!”

“Real mature,” Jason says. “Well, I’m gonna get cookie dough, because I have taste. Tim, please tell me you’re not gonna get that monstrosity.”

Tim shifts, his face squishing up. “Well, I was gonna…”

“Don’t let Jay get you down, Timmers. Get whatever you want. Jason’s just basic.” Jason splutters indignantly, but before their light-hearted bickering can devolve into a real argument, Dick turns to the worker behind the counter to place their orders.

Soon enough, they’re sitting at a little round table, attention refocused on their individual desserts. Damian squirms slightly on Dick’s lap, using a tiny sample spoon to pick at Dick’s cup of Superman. Jason and Tim both have cones, and have gone relatively quiet in their effort to keep ice cream from melting all over their hands. Tim has ice cream on the tip of his nose and Jason has a smear of it across his cheek, both somehow messier than the literal two-year-old at the table. It’s kind of really adorable.

Tim bounces slightly in his seat, energetic and lively. It’s refreshing, seeing him more like an actual child as opposed to someone so quiet and reserved. Although, Dick has to wonder if it’s because he’s actually becoming more comfortable with Dick and Jason or if it’s just having other people around to feed energy off of. 

“This may have been a bad idea.” Dick says, glancing at the time on his phone. 8:30 p.m. “This much sugar this late? You’ll be bouncing off the walls.” It’s gonna be hell to put Damian to bed, especially if Jason is on a sugar high, demanding his attention.

“Oh like you’re one to talk, Dickie. Alfie told me that when you were younger, you snuck extra cookies and then did a backhandspring straight into a vase.”

“It didn’t take extra sugar to make me hyper enough to destroy heirlooms. I think Bruce used to like to put out the uglier ones in hopes that I would break them.” Tim giggles, and Dick shrugs. “You can take the boy out of the circus but you can’t take the circus out of the boy.”

“I think that’s really cool,” Tim says. “Can you still do all that stuff?”

“Pretty much. I don’t get to practice as much as I used to, but there’s still a trapeze and uneven bars at the Manor that I try to sneak in some time on as often as I can.” Not to mention being Nightwing.

“Whoa.”

“Oh, don’t get starstruck,” Jason groans. “He’s not very cool, really.”

“Well can you do a quadruple somersault?” Tim asks Jason. “I didn’t think so.”

Dick blinks. “How’d you know specifically about the quad?”

Tim flushes bright pink. “Um, I’ve seen some of your videos. I’m, uh, I'm a big fan.”

“Oh. Well, thanks Tim.”

Tim looks like he wants to say more, but Damian interrupts with a loud and adorable yawn. He whines, poking Dick sharply in the cheek with one chubby finger.

Jason snickers. “Is it past babybird’s bedtime?”

“Just about,” Dick says, grabbing a napkin and wiping blue ice cream from the corner of Damian’s mouth. “You guys ready to go?”

“Sure.”

Jason and Tim are chatty on the way to take Tim home. Apparently one of the eighth-graders at Gotham Academy stole a bunch of frogs from the biology department and is trying to raise them in the basement. There’s a contest going around about names for the various frogs. Tim seems to be on the side of naming them after various Justice Leaguers while Jason is leaning towards classic literature.

“I just think a frog named Benvolio would be funny,” Jason argues.

“So would Green Lantern.”

“It’s just not as strong. Too on-the-nose.”

“Hm maybe. But I still think it’s fun.”

“Sorry guys,” Dick says. “I hate to interrupt, but we’re here.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” Tim says as he climbs out of the car. “Can we… can we hang out again some time?”

“Definitely,” Jason says. “Right, Dick?” 

Dick smiles. “Sounds like a plan to me. Goodnight, Tim.”

“Goodnight! Goodnight, Jason. Goodnight, Damian.”

Tim runs up the path to his door and Dick watches with a growing sense of unease as Tim digs through his jacket pocket for his keys. The housekeeper isn’t there. It’s almost 9:00 at night, and Tim is only eleven-years-old, and he’s all alone in that big, cold building. Again. Dick’s heart sinks, even as Tim turns to give them one last wave goodbye before he disappears inside. 

“Where the fuck are his parents?” Jason grumbles beside him, glaring at the Drakes’ estate with enough fury that if he had Superman’s heat vision, the building would surely be on fire by now. 

“Egypt,” Dick says dryly.

“Well then where the fuck is his housekeeper at least? Why is he all alone?”

Dick sighs. Jason is understandably angry at what they’re seeing. Less than two years ago, Jason was also often going home to no one—and when his parents were there… well, sometimes Dick has to wonder if things weren’t better when Catherine and Willis _weren’t_ home. Even though he’s sure Catherine at least cared for Jason, it never should have been Jason’s job to take care of the woman that was supposed to be his mom. It’s not the same situation, Jason and Tim, but Dick can see Jason clearly drawing comparisons between his own experiences and Tim’s absent, potentially neglectful parents.

Tim needs people in his life, a family, someone other than his parents that apparently, _stupidly,_ couldn’t step up to the plate. He doesn’t deserve that, to be all alone. Dick can’t stand the thought of Tim having no one to watch out for him.

“Look, I like Tim a lot. I think he’s a really good kid, and I think he could use us looking out for him, don’t you think?”

Jason rolls his eyes. “He was my friend first. You don’t have to tell me that he needs more people in his life.” His expression darkens. “I don’t like his parents, Dick. They suck.”

“I kind of gathered,” Dick says with a grimace.

“Tim told me they’ve been gone for four months. And he hinted that that’s not even close to the longest they’ve been away. He’s just _alone,_ all the time.”

Dick sighs. “That’s despicable.” He feels lost, almost the way he had when he’d had to take in Damian. Social services won’t do a damn thing for Tim, nothing good at least. “We’ll just have to be here for him, as much as we can. What do you say?”

“I think we can do that.”

“I think so too.”

* * *

“I still think this is probably the most impressive blanket fort I’ve ever seen,” Dick remarks as he crawls out after Tim and Jason. He sighs dramatically. “I guess I’ll have to call Wally and let him know that our record has been beat.”

It had been Jason’s idea to invite Tim to a sleepover. Tim had never been to one before, so of course they had to do all the traditional sleepover activities: too much junk food, ridiculous movies, fun pajamas, and of course, blanket forts. 

Damian for one absolutely _loves_ the fort; Dick can’t get him to leave. Both Tim and Jason tried to entice him out with his various stuffed animals, but all that did was make it so Damian and seven of his favorite animals are firmly planted in the corner, curled up in a blanket cocoon. They couldn’t get him out even for bedtime the night before, so the four of them had decided to sleep in the fort. Dick had nearly cried when Damian handed them each one of his stuffed animals to sleep with, even Tim. 

He likes having Tim here with them. The kid's a really good addition—smart, easily slipping into banter with Jason and getting to be the same way with Dick, passionate about his hobbies and interests, a relatively level head when Jason is riled up and a breath of fresh air when Dick is feeling down. He slipped in with them easily, and their little family just feels more whole when he's around.

“I’m about to make breakfast, kiddos. Any requests?”

“Oh, I can help,” Tim says.

Dick waves him off. “Don’t worry, Tim. I got it.”  
“You sure?”

“Of course, bud. Now what are we thinking?”

Tim shrugs. “I’m fine with whatever, really.”

“Eggs,” Jason says as he brushes past, headed for the bathroom. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Can you bring Damian his cheerios first?” Dick calls back. “And don’t use my conditioner!”

“Try and stop me, Dickhead!”

“I’ll bring Damian some cheerios, Dick,” Tim offers.

“Thanks, Tim. There’s bowls in that cabinet right there.” Tim nods and scurries about his task while Dick starts cracking eggs.

Jason is in the shower and Dick is cooking breakfast when Tim appears in the kitchen doorway, looking nervous.

“Dick?” Tim’s voice is barely above a whisper.

“What’s up, Timbo?” Dick asks, popping bread in the toaster and brushing his hands off on his pants.

Tim’s mouth quirks up into a brief, lopsided smile at the nickname before he slips back to something much more timid. “I, uh, have something I wanted to give you?”

“Okay…”

Tim pulls out an envelope from behind his back, thrusting it into Dick’s hands. Confused, Dick takes it and opens it slowly, searching Tim’s face for a hint, but he can’t figure out for the life of him what would be in the envelope. 

It’s a picture. It’s a picture of his parents.

His mom and dad in their red, greed, and gold costumes stand on either side of an eight-year-old Dick Grayson. They both have a hand on Dick’s shoulders, and perched on Dick’s hip is a small child with shiny dark hair and familiar blue eyes. 

“That’s—that’s me.” Tim points at the kid in the photo and Dick almost yanks the picture away to keep it fingerprint-free. 

This is… precious. He has almost no pictures of himself and his parents, really just his Flying Graysons poster, and now here they are, smiling up at him. He’d forgotten what their smiles looked like.

When Dick is unable to find his voice, Tim barrels on for him. “I was only, like, Damian’s age, but I _loved_ you guys. My parents used to put on videos of your performances instead of cartoons, and when you guys came to Gotham, we just had to go.”

Dick doesn’t remember taking this picture. It’s understandable, given what happened less than an hour later. 

(He wishes he could remember more about that day, something beyond the blood in the sawdust and his own screams mingling with the crowd’s.)

“Do you…” He swallows the sudden lump in his throat. “Do you remember that day?”

Tim shakes his head. “No. Not really, at least.”

“Good.”

“I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t, Tim. I just… I don’t have any pictures of them.”

“I sort of noticed.” He flushes. “I didn’t mean to spy, I just happened to notice. Sorry.”

Dick shakes his head and sets the picture down carefully before lurching forward to pull Tim into a hug. Tim stiffens, startled, for just a moment before he’s hugging Dick back tightly.

“Thank you, Tim,” Dick whispers. “This means a lot to me.”

“You’re welcome. Thank you for… everything.”

Tim gasps when Dick squeezes him tighter, but practically melts in his arms.

* * *

“There’s a fair next weekend that I thought would be fun. We should invite Tim, don’t you think? I know it’s not exactly your usual scene but I think it would be fun for the four of us.”

“Whatever,” Jason says, and Dick is startled by the cold hard apathy in his voice. “You can do whatever you want.”

“What’s up with you, Jay? I was just asking for your opinion. If you don’t want to go to the fair, just tell me.”

“It’s fine! The fair sounds great! I’m sure Tim will be into that. He’s into all your circus shit.”

Dick stiffens. “Jason…”

“Sorry,” he snaps, not sounding sorry at all. “I didn’t mean to diss the circus. I know it’s so fucking important to you.”

“Yeah, it is. What is going on with you? Why are you acting like this?

“Nothing! I didn’t mean anything. Just ignore me.”

“No. Never. Come on, kiddo, talk to me. What’s up with you?”

“Absolutely nothing. The fair sounds fine. I’m sure Tim will love it way more than me and you guys can have the time of your lives. I’ll watch Damian for you, maybe win him some dumb prizes or something. There. You happy?”

“What? No—What?”

“Nothing! It sounds fun! I’ll go call Tim right now if you want.”

“Wait, Jay, c’mon. Are you—are you… You’re not jealous, right? Of Tim?”

“No!”

“Jaybird…”

“I’m not jealous! I just… I mean…” He scowls over Dick’s shoulder, refusing to meet his eyes. “Maybe.”

“But why? Jay…”

“He’s a _fan,_ ” Jason practically spits. “He thinks you’re so cool and he tells you all the time and… and he gave you that picture of your parents and you guys just fucking get along and all _we_ ever do is fight.”

“Hey, hey. Jay, look at me.” Jason glares at the floor, so Dick grabs his cheeks with both hands, thumb swiping away an angry tear. “You’re my little brother. There’s absolutely nothing in the world that could change how much I love you.”

“But I always snap at you—”

“And I snap back. Jay, we’re brothers. That’s _normal._ It never changes how much I love you. No one could ever replace you.”

“You _left._ You took Dami and you left. Without me.”

“I didn’t want to. You know I didn’t want to. I miss you every single day, Jay, and if I could have us all back together again I would do it in a heartbeat. I didn’t want to leave you, and I didn’t choose Damian over you. I love you both, the exact same amount, which is so, so much.”

“You left me behind,” he whispers. “You already have a hard time making time for me and now… and now… I don’t even know! I can’t explain it!” His chest is heaving by the time he’s done, cheeks red with embarrassment and anger, eyes still shining suspiciously.

“I thought you liked hanging out with Tim?”

“I do! I just… I don’t even know why I’m getting so worked up about this!” Jason is blinking rapidly, and hastily scrubs away the tear that manages to escape. Dick can’t stand it. He pulls his little brother in close, tucking his head against his neck and carding his fingers through the thick hair at the back of his head.

“Because a lot has changed,” Dick says, trying to keep his voice level as his own vision blurs. “Because for a while it was just you and me and Damian, and now it’s kind of Tim too. Because you don’t get a ton of time with me, and it’s different when Tim is with us.”

“I guess… I feel so _stupid,_ ” Jason mumbles into his shoulder. “I like Tim. He’s, like, my best friend. I don’t want to stop hanging out with him. I don’t want him to stop coming to hang out with us. I just wish I could stop feeling like… this.”

“You just have to let it out. Talk to Alfred, talk to me, talk to _Tim._ He’s a good kid, he’ll understand. We’ll figure it out, I promise. And you are _not_ stupid. Hey.” He pulls back enough to cup Jason’s face again, forcing him to look at his face. He needs to know, needs to believe it. “You are not stupid, okay? I never want to hear you say something like that again. You are smart and brave and I love you so much.”

Jason leans forward, forehead bumping against Dick’s. “I love you too,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

Dick shakes his head without pulling back, making sure Jason can feel what he’s saying, even though his eyes have slipped closed. “Don’t be sorry for telling me how you’re feeling. I want to know, Jay. I always want you to feel like you’re able to come to me.”

“I do. I—Thanks, Dick.”

“Of course.” He presses a kiss to Jason’s forehead, and finally pulls back to get a good look at his brother. He looks better, calmer, but there’s still a slightly dejected slump to his shoulders that isn’t usually there. “How about this, Jay: we’ll come up with a code, something that means that you need some time, just the two of us, and I’ll make it happen. I’ll find a babysitter for Damian if that’s what you need, or it can be you and me and Damian. Whatever you want, no questions asked. Even if I’m swamped, even if I’m in the middle of patrol, even if we’re in the middle of a fight.”

Jason chews on his lower lip, seemingly avoiding Dick’s eyes in favor of staring at the floor. It’s uncharacteristic how nervous, almost timid, he’s acting, and it scares Dick. He wants nothing more than to fix this, so his brother knows just how important he is. Dick will _always_ be there for him. “So what’s the code?”

“From now on, if you call me Big Bird, I’ll know I need to spend some time with my Little Wing, sound good?”

Jason grins, and if Dick didn’t know better, he’d swear the kid looked teary-eyed. “Stop trying to make Little Wing happen, Dickhead.”

“Never.” He leans forward, pulling Jason into a tight hug. “Never ever. Not even when you’re a six foot tall giant adult. You’ll always be my Little Wing. Do you want to go to the fair, just us?

Jason shakes his head. “Nah. We should invite Tim. I like having him around, I think… I think he’s a good fit for this stupid little family.”

Dick laughs. “Good. I think so too. Just don’t forget that no one could ever replace you. Never ever.”

Jason hugs him back with a vengeance. “Okay, okay, Dickhead, I get it. You just said I wasn’t stupid; no need to keep spelling it out for me.” Like that's ever going to stop Dick from making sure Jason knows how important he is.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Happy birt’day,” Damian mumbles sleepily."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back! sorry, i got a little stuck with this chapter if you couldn't guess lol whoops :)

“…Happy birthday to you!”

Dick blows out the candles on his cake and immediately something is smacked into the side of his face. 

“Wally!” he splutters, grabbing a napkin to wipe smushed cupcake off of his cheek. He’s chuckling, but Alfred sounds significantly less amused by his best friend’s antics. 

“C’mon, Alfie!” Wally protests, trying hard not to wilt under his disapproving glare. “It’s not even your cake! I made it myself!”

It’s a tradition of theirs—Alfred’s least favorite tradition of theirs. Every year, Dick and Wally attempt to hit each other in the face with their birthday cake. Back when they were young, Dick could still catch Wally off-guard enough to hit him, but it's gotten a lot harder as his speed has increased. Doesn’t mean that Wally will go easy on Dick in return. Evil.

“Here go,” Damian says, smacking a napkin against Dick’s face in a clumsy attempt to help. 

“Thanks, Dami,” Dick says, taking the napkin from him as well as the stack Tim had offered. Jason is too busy cackling to be any sort of help.

He’s eighteen now. A legal adult, even if he’s been living as one for several months now. He’s not alone, though, far from it in fact. Babs is passing around plates and forks while Clark starts cutting the cake, Alfred too busy glowering at Wally. Tim is trying to get Wally to give him a piggyback ride, possibly in an attempt to save him from Alfred. Jason has scooped Damian up onto his shoulders and is possibly attempting to have an indoor chicken fight with Wally and Tim. It seems like a slightly bad idea, but right now it’s not Dick’s job to put a stop to it. 

Having been stopped via the combined efforts of Alfred’s scolding and Clark’s mild panicking, Jason lifts Damian off of his shoulders and instead marches him over to Dick, holding him out like a sack of flour.

“What do you have to say to Dickiebird, Dami?” Jason asks, bouncing Damian slightly.

“Love oo!” Damian babbles, beaming wide and bright. Dick’s chest aches with how much he loves this kid. He takes Damian from Jason’s arms, tucking him under his chin and reveling in the rare stream of delighted giggles that are now pressed against his collarbone. 

“He was supposed to say Happy Birthday,” Jason whines, pouting. “We practiced and everything.”

“Aw, I guess Dami’s just in a silly mood today.” Dick laughs and suddenly shifts Damian in his grip to flip him upside down. The resulting happy squeals are loud and high-pitched enough to potentially shatter glass, and Jason winces even as Dick digs his fingertips into Damian’s sides, where he knows he’s ticklish. “Sorry, Clark,” he calls, belatedly realizing that the noise is probably a little harsh for someone with super-hearing. 

Clark waves him off with a smile. He always looks a little sad when he sees Dick and Damian together. Dick tries very hard not to think about it. (About how Clark must know, better than anyone, how much Bruce would want to see his sons together like this. About how Dick and Damian’s age gap is virtually the same as Dick and Bruce’s had been. About how Dick is trying to do what Bruce did all those years ago. About how Clark was around for all of it, how he might see Bruce in Dick, how he must miss Bruce so bad that it aches. Dick knows it’s crippling some days.)

A lot of things about today are tinged bittersweet. But Dick’s used to it: various holidays in the early days, spent curled up in a ball under a massive blanket, his head on Bruce’s lap as he talks endlessly about his traditions with his first family; accidentally calling Bruce “dad” and finding that the title fit pretty damn well; thinking and talking about handing off his Robin costume, Jason wearing their colors, a Flying Grayson as well as a Wayne. He’s good at focusing on the “sweet” part of “bittersweet.” Bruce always said it made him proud.

He’s gonna keep making Bruce proud, even now. There’s still a lot of light in his life, the apartment warm and bright.

“Happy birt’day,” Damian mumbles sleepily as Dick puts him down for bed later. Little stinker—Jason’s gonna be so mad.

“Thanks, little D. Sweet dreams, baby.”

“Swee dreams,” comes the babbled reply.

* * *

His gift from Alfred is a membership at the best tumbling gym in the city. He’d been having a hard time finding time to get over to the Manor, and besides his still-sporadic stints as Nightwing, Dick hasn’t really been able to fly much lately. It makes him more than a little restless if he goes too long without it, puts him on-edge. 

He starts going over there once a week, on Wednesdays after work. Damian is much more comfortable with the daycare now, so he feels safe to take some time for himself.

He’s leaving one day, hair slightly sweaty and muscles aching, feeling more invigorated than he has in a while, when he stops by the front desk to say goodbye. Elena, the woman who usually works the front desk, is hanging up a poster advertising their upcoming summer classes.

“You have a tumbling class for little kids?” he blurts out. 

Elena looks up and nods, grinning at him. “We have a two- to four-year-old class, a five- to six-year-old class, and then level-based classes after that. Are you interested?”

“Um… Yeah. Do you have a pamphlet of anything I can see?” 

“Sure. It’s on our website, but I can grab you a paper copy as well. How old is your kid?”

“He’s, uh, he’s about two and a half. He’ll be three in August.”

Elena smiles. “Aw. Why have I never met him? Dick Grayson, are you holding out on us?”

“I guess I am,” Dick says with a grin. “He’s a great kid.”

“I’ll bet. Well, we have online registration if you find you’re interested, or you can bring him in next week and we’ll get him set up here.”

“Thanks. And… you said you have classes for older kids too?”

“We sure do.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” Jason would probably prefer if Dick taught him himself, but it doesn’t hurt to offer. Plus maybe Tim needs a new hobby. It’s not exactly sharing the Grayson legacy, but it’s a start. 

* * *

Dick sits in the viewing room with the other parents. It’s mostly moms, although there are two dads chatting quietly in the corner. Dick is at least eight years younger than everyone else. He puts that thought out of his mind, settling on watching Damian’s first tumbling class through the window.

His fingers itch to be down there with his baby brother, helping him through his first somersaults and cartwheels. Like his parents did with him. It’s good though for Damian to be around other kids. Dick’s been doing some research, and a lot of the blogs say that playgroups are good ways for kids to socialize. Problem is, Dick is eighteen, and his only friend with a kid is Roy, and he and Lian live halfway across the country. (They’ve made plans to get Damian and Lian together six different times now, but something always comes up. Oh the life of single teen superhero parents.)

Maybe once Dami masters the basics, Dick can teach him trapeze, or the moves he made up as Robin. 

For now though, he’ll settle for watching Damian somersault all around the gym. He comes to a stop near the observation room window, stumbling slightly on his feet as he fights off the lingering dizziness. The moment he spots Dick watching him, he waves excitedly. Dick waves back, smiling, and expects Damian to rejoin his class, but he doesn’t. Instead, Damian keeps on waving, laughing when it makes Dick chuckle. He eventually has to be guided back to join the other kids by his teacher. 

“Aw,” one of the other moms says, watching them. “He’s so cute.”

Dick has to agree. It wasn’t exactly the best situation in the world, but Dick ended up with a pretty damn good kid.

Damian’s face lights up when he spots Dick after class, toddling over as fast as his little legs can carry him. He collides with Dick’s shins, wrapping his arms around him tightly.

“Hey, buddy!” Dick says, reaching down to scoop him up. “How was it?”

“Good.” Damian pats the top of his head, absently playing with his hair. 

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh. Roll.”

“I saw. You were very good.”

Damian beams, then shifts so his cheek is resting on Dick’s shoulder. “Like you.”

God, being around Damian so much is going to make his heart swell out of his chest. He presses a long kiss to the crown of Damian’s hair before pulling back just enough to rest his forehead there.

“You’re the best kid in the whole wide world, you know that?”

“Uh huh,” Dami mumbles. Dick laughs.

“Hey, Dick,” Elena calls, cutting through his thoughts. He changes course, carrying Damian over to the desk to chat with her. “Aw, hey cutie.” She waves at Damian, who waves back. He must be in a good mood today. 

“Elena, this is Damian. My… my kid.” 

“Hi, Damian. It’s nice to meet you. Did you have fun in your first class today?”

“Uh huh. Good rolls. Like Dih.” Damian pats Dick’s cheek as he giggles. 

Elena practically melts. “Awww. Anyway, that’s actually kind of what I wanted to talk to you about, Dick. One of our coaches is moving away, and I was wondering if you would be interested in applying for a job here? 

Dick blinks. “Wait really?”

“Well yeah. I’ve seen what you can do in the gym, plus you seem to be really good with kids, obviously. I think it would be a good fit, if you’re interested. Are you?”

“I mean, yeah! Absolutely!”

“Great! We can set up an interview sometime next week then. A couple of the other staff members will want to talk to you first, but they know who you are. Your reputation kinda precedes you, and I know we’d be interested in expanding our class offerings.”

“Trapeze?” 

“Maybe. If you’re interested, we can talk about it, okay?”

“Okay.” He feels both elated and a little numb at the same time. His face is starting to ache from how wide he’s smiling. 

“I’ll give you a call tonight, Dick. Does that work?”

“Yeah, sure! It’ll just be me, Dami, and some cartoons tonight, so I’m free pretty much whenever.”

“Sounds great. Looking forward to it.”

* * *

If Dick thought he was proud  _ watching _ Dami in class, it’s a thousand times better to be teaching him himself. Outside of being Nightwing, this is the most he’s felt like himself in a long time. He’s completely in his element—as opposed to his desk job, which he still holds part time. Plus he gets to spend time with Damian outside of the apartment.

It feels like family when he’s teaching Damian, in a different way. Don’t get him wrong, Damian is in no way a burden. Dick will  _ never _ call him that. He’s not. He’s an amazing kid, and Dick loves him so, so much. But he kind of gave up his whole life to take care of Damian, and maybe it’s a little selfish, but sometimes he’s tired. Sometimes it just feels like he’s going through the motions. He’d still do it a thousand times over, but that doesn’t change how it weighs on him sometimes. 

At the gym he can almost forget that he’s responsible for a whole entire human being, that Damian’s life is in his hands. That Bruce is dead and Dick is as close as Damian’s going to get to a dad now.

He gets to let go a little and have  _ fun. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will be dick and damian cuddles that will hopefully take me less than a month to write this time :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, kiddo. You feeling bad?”  
> Dami nods against his hand. “Uh huh.” He really does sound pitiful. “Baba make better?”

Dick wakes up to Damian whining as he clambers up onto his bed.

“Dih.” It comes out half as a sniffle, and that’s all the warning Dick gets before he’s being smacked in the face by pudgy toddler hands.

“Okay, okay, buddy. I’m up. I’m getting up.”

He sits up, blinking sleep away, but instead of dragging him out of bed for breakfast and cartoons, Damian burrows into his lap, pressing his face into Dick’s stomach with a whine. 

“Whoa, hey. What’s wrong, buddy?” Damian makes another high-pitched noise, clearly one of distress. “Kiddo, you gotta tell me what’s up, or else I can’t help you.”

“Owie. Make stop.”

“You have an owie? Where is it, bud? What hurts?” Does he need to take Damian to Leslie? The cave? A hospital?

“All.”

He worms his arms under Damian’s stomach, sitting him up and helping him lean back against Dick’s chest. Damian whines again and tries to snuggle back down. Dick wraps an arm around him to try and calm him down, feeling his forehead with his other hand. It’s too warm.

“Oh, kiddo. You feeling bad?”

Dami nods against his hand. “Uh huh.” He really does sound pitiful. “Baba make better?”

Dick’s heart clenches. “Oh, buddy. I will do everything I can to help you feel better lickety-split, alright?”

“Okay,” Damian whispers.

“Are you hungry at all?”

“Nuh uh.” Damian shakes his head emphatically. 

“Okay that’s fine. You don’t have to eat. Want to watch some Octonauts while I make a couple phone calls?”

“Watch with me.”

“I will, Dami, promise. As soon as I’m done. It’ll just take a couple minutes, okay?”

“Okay.” Damian agrees, but he sounds practically on the verge of tears. Dick hopes it’s just him feeling icky and tired, as opposed to being upset with Dick. Or worse, being really in pain. Most likely he’s just got a crappy cold, but some part of Dick can’t help but panic just a little bit.

“Alright, bud.” 

He scoops Damian up, letting him wrap his arms weakly around his neck. He goes practically boneless immediately, leaning against Dick’s shoulder. Dick settles him in front of the TV, fetching their softest blanket and the stuffed animal of Damian’s choice. It’s not Zitka today, which is a bit surprising, but Damian does tend to like to rotate some; he likes to spend some time with all of his toys in turn. It’s adorable really.

“I’ll be right back, okay Dami? I’m gonna call Alfie real quick. Do you wanna talk to him too?”

Damian nods weakly, gaze already trained on the TV. “Uh huh.”

“Okie dokie. I’m gonna talk first and then it’ll be your turn.”

“Okie dokie.”

He steps into the kitchen to dial, keeping one eye on Damian in the living room. He’s curled up, looking impossibly tiny in his blanket burrito, just red nose, puffy eyes, and tufts of dark hair sticking out.

“Master Dick,” Alfred says upon picking up. “Are you quite alright? This is a bit early for you.”

Dick glances at the clock on the microwave. 6:03 am. Dick is  _ not _ a morning person. (Thank you, Bruce, for that habit. The Graysons used to get up practically with the sun.)

“Um, I’m fine, but I think Dami’s sick.”

“Oh, the poor thing. Can you describe his symptoms?”

“Yeah. He’s definitely got a fever, but not too bad of one. Runny nose. He says he’s got an ‘all-over owie,’ so most likely pretty achy.”

Alfred hums in understanding. “Sounds like he’s got a little bit of a bug. Nothing of cause for too much concern. Keep an eye on his temperature and make sure he gets plenty of fluids. And nutrients. He most likely will not want to eat, and you don’t need to force him, but if he can stomach it, try and get some healthy foods into him. Master Bruce was always a fan of applesauce and chicken noodle soup when he was young. It’s possible that young Master Damian is much the same as his father. Or perhaps not. You would eat anything I placed in front of you so long as I arranged it in the shape of a smiley face.”

Dick chuckles. “I remember. Hey, well thank you.”

“Of course, Master Dick. You call me if you have any more questions, alright? Master Bruce was always quite frantic when yourself or Master Jason fell ill.”

“Yeah, I remember that too.” Bruce never panicked in hostage situations or alien invasions, but if Dick sneezed it was like the world was coming to an end. “Anyway, Dami wants to talk to you before you go.”

“Well, by all means, put him on. I am always happy to have the chance to speak with the young master.”

Dick heads back into the living room, coaxing Damian to sit up enough to talk to Alfred. He winds up holding the phone for Damian, since he refuses to remove his arms from under the blanket. 

“Here’s Alfred, bud. Say hi.”

“Hi.” Damian still sounds horribly pitiful, but Alfred has a way of making it all better. Hopefully some Alfred magic will transfer through the phone. Dick can’t hear Alfred’s side of the conversation, but at least Damian has enough energy to respond. “Uh huh. Nuh uh.” There’s a pause, and Damian stares up at Dick with wide, slightly-glazed eyes. “Okay,” he whispers. “Bye bye.”

Dick takes the phone back. “Thanks again, Alfie. I’ll see you on Sunday, alright?”

“I look forward to it. Take care, Master Dick, of both yourself and that boy.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Next he calls Elena at the gym to let her know that he can’t come into work today. She coos in sympathy when he mentions that Damian is sick. “You better take care of my favorite student, Dick Grayson,” she warns. “Or else you’re totally fired.”

“Got it,” he grins. “I will do my best.” He plops down next to Damian on the couch. The kid immediately responds by shoving his cold feet under Dick’s legs. “Alright, little D, I’m all yours for the rest of the day. We can stay in our pjs all day and watch your shows and if you want extra stories tonight, I’m pretty sure we can make that happen.”

Dami whines loudly, flopping limply over onto Dick’s lap. He wiggles weakly (a bit dramatically) until Dick pulls him up into his arms. He immediately goes boneless against Dick’s chest, the warm breaths against Dick’s neck a little bit gross. He’s willing to risk it, because Dami is cuddly and clingy as it is and he’s not going to begrudge a sick little kid his favorite form of comfort, but Dick really, really hopes he doesn’t catch Damian’s bug. (Being an adult means no one will snuggle him through his own misery anymore, all sniffles and Disney movies and watery hot chocolate because Alfred said Dick shouldn’t have any more but Bruce was always weak to puppy dog eyes.)

“Can you even see the TV like that, bud?”

“Nuh uh.”

“Do you want to move?”

“No.” Damian buries his nose against Dick’s collarbone.

“Okay,” he chuckles. “Comfy?”

“Uh huh.”

“Alright then.” He wraps his arms around Damian, alternating between rubbing soothing circles on his back and gently scratching the back of his scalp. It doesn’t take long for Damian to fall back asleep, and because it’s barely 6:30 in the morning, Dick drifts off with him.

Surprisingly, it’s not Dami that wakes the pair of them up a few hours later, but Dick’s stomach. 

Damian groans. “Noisy,” he says, squirming and poking Dick in the stomach.

“Sorry, kiddo. Food time. For me at least. You up to try for some breakfast?”

The resulting whine is neither compliance nor disagreement, so Dick takes it as permission to hike Damian up on his hip as he stands, carrying him into the kitchen and settling him in at the table. 

Alfred has instilled in him the necessity of keeping a stocked medicine cabinet. Damian gets baby cold medicine because he’s a baby. 

Dick was always a down the little plastic cup in one go kinda guy, but Damian sips it like a tiny cup of tea. It takes about five minutes before the thing is empty and Damian sets his chin on the table to watch as Dick gets to work on breakfast.

Damian really likes those plates that are shaped like animals. Even if he’s not particularly hungry, he’s likely to at least try and clear his plate if it’s shaped like a cat or a bear. Dick sets down two small pancakes and some cut-up cantaloupe plus a sippy cup full of apple juice in front of him. The internet says that watery fruits and comfort foods are good for sick toddlers, and even though pancakes aren’t anything particularly special, they’re what Dick’s best at. He’s  _ mastered _ the art of the perfect pancake. He can even flip them one-handed with the pan. 

Damian picks at his food and actually manages about half of the plate. Step one complete.

Step two is far easier by comparison: do whatever the hell Damian wants to do because he’s the one feeling icky so he gets to be in charge.

Damian wants to play, which means the medicine may have started to kick in; hopefully the kiddo is feeling a bit better. Damian isn’t so much a reserved player, but he is very particular. Dick has to let him steer the games and stories or else Dami gets frustrated and prone to temper tantrums. He’s more subdued at the moment, but he quietly passes Dick various toys and stuffed animals and Dick does his best to follow the narrative that’s being constructed in Dami’s big brain.

He’s pretty sure the stuffed cow is about to either get married to the Pikachu toy that Tim left at the apartment last week or enter into some kind of blood feud with him when Damian suddenly lays his head in Dick’s lap and curls around his leg. He plays absently with the Pikachu, blinking slow as his eyelids grow heavy.

“You sleepy again, bud?” Dick asks as he runs a hand through Damian’s bangs. They’re a little sweaty, but that’s to be expected. Dick has vague memories of his parents and later Bruce doing the same thing when he was sick. If they can put up with his fever-induced forehead sweat, then Dick can put up with Damian’s—that’s just part of the responsibility of being… something. A guardian. Yeah, he’ll go with guardian. And then he’ll stop thinking too hard about it before he goes crazy.

“You wanna go lay down in bed? Or on the couch?”

“No.” Damian’s eyes are closed, his breathing is slowing. Dick is trapped on the living room floor, kind of uncomfortably warm with Damian curled up almost entirely in his lap. Kind of like a cat. (Damian loves animals; would he want a cat? Their building allows cats… Maybe something to think about?)

He sits and waits and once he’s fairly sure that Damian is pretty firmly asleep, he very, very carefully slides his arms around the kid and scoops him up as gently as possible. Damian will be so distraught if he wakes up alone, so Dick tucks him into his own bed and settles in next to him. He has thirty-six unread texts from Wally, and he’s pretty sure they’re all nonsense that he definitely needs to answer before his best friend card is revoked.

The medicine has worn off, Damian’s fever has risen, and apparently it’s giving him some pretty nasty dreams. He’s clinging to Dick like his life depends on it, cycling between fitful sleep and waking up on the verge of tears. Dick hasn’t gotten up to get him more medicine yet because every time he tries, Damian starts screaming and sobbing and clutching at his shirt like it’s a lifeline. 

Dick absolutely hates seeing this, but it gets even worse when he manages to decipher what Damian is actually saying through his tears. 

“Baba,” he sobs. “Baba please. No go. Please please.  _ Baba! _ ”

Dick holds him against his chest and tries so hard to soothe him, but tears roll down his own cheeks, gaze locked on the ceiling as if it could come crashing down at any moment. He feels like he’s completely falling apart, and the fact that Damian needs him is the scotch tape that’s holding him together. 

“Shh shh,” Dick tries weakly. “Dami, baby, it’s… it’s okay. I’m here. I’m right here with you and I’ll never leave you. You will never have to be alone. Never, baby, I promise.”

He doesn’t expect it to work. Damian’s crying for a dead man. Bruce is never coming back. He left. He left Damian and Jason and Alfred and Dick. He left before he could meet Tim; he would have  _ loved  _ Tim, would have known how to help him. He left before he could see Dick find a job he loves or give Jason terrible dating advice or send Damian to his first day of school. 

He left and he’s never coming back, no matter how hard Damian wants it. No matter how much Dick needs it. 

All he’s got now is his big brother who’s legally an adult but very rarely feels like it. Alfred and Jason are there, but they’re not  _ here. _ Dick is. He made this decision, and he will never regret it, but that doesn’t exactly make it any easier.

“I’m here, Damian,” he whispers. “I’m sorry Bruce isn’t here, I’m so sorry you can’t have your Baba right now, but  _ I  _ will always be right here. Forever and ever you will never be able to get rid of me now.”

(How many times had he wished Bruce would say that to him, that he would  _ tell _ him flat-out that he would always have a place? More than he can count. Maybe every night at the beginning, back before the adoption offer had been made. The very least he can do is offer that comfort to Damian.)

“Let’s get some more medicine in you, okay baby? It’ll make you feel a whole lot better, I promise.”

Surprisingly, Damian actually nods, smearing wet tears and snot on Dick’s shirt, and allows himself to be collected. He settles down to sniffles instead of full-blown sobs, resting his chin on Dick’s shoulder and watching the world through glassy, red-rimmed eyes.

“I’m so sorry you’re feeling so bad, little D,” Dick says as Damian sips at his medicine. 

Damian sniffs. A single tear rolls down his chubby cheek. “Story?”

“Of course, buddy. Whatever you’re in the mood for.”

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“You’re welcome, Dami. Want some more juice?” Please say yes, please say yes. He needs more fluids in him, especially with all the tears. Damian nods and Dick silently cheers. “Alfie’s gonna come by with some soup tonight and then if you’re up for it, maybe we can have a movie night?”

Damian doesn’t really smile, but the tears have stopped and he continues to nod to Dick’s suggestions, which means he’s probably at least somewhat aware of what Dick is saying to him. And then, when Dick walks over to give him his juice, he leans against his side and sighs and he almost sounds content.

Maybe he’s doing the right thing here. They’re going to get through today and yes it will be sticky and tired and mopey and sad, but Dick will be there for all of it. For today and every single day after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say a huge huge thank you to everyone who has been so patient and understanding about the slower updates. A fun combo of work and writers block make it tricky some times and it really means a lot to me <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What do you think, Dami?” Dick asks. He’s managed to scoot himself slowly onto the floor to join them, and Damian has coaxed the cat into letting Dick at least pet his head. He actually purrs when he scratches behind his ears. Nice. “You wanna take him home?”

If Dick hasn’t had a front row seat to the kind of shenanigans Jason and Tim can get into together, he’d think that Jason’s main reason for keeping Tim around is the fact that he gets to ride shotgun without question. He just always looks so smug as he buckles his seatbelt; Dick supposes that when you’re twelve-years-old, riding in the front seat must seem like the height of maturity.  In the back, Damian is babbling at Tim, who hasn’t been around Damian long enough to be able to decipher the muddled words and half-formed sentences. He’s clearly confused and mildly panicked, but he nods and says “uh huh” and “oh?” whenever Damian pauses so he seems to be doing okay.

It’s really cute how Damian’s completely stopped being wary of Tim. He’ll crawl onto his lap or force him to play with him—he treats Tim practically the same way he treats Jason. 

Damian doesn’t exactly seem quick to accept people into his life, but once he does, they’re in for good. He’s a kid with so, so much love in his heart.

(Dick doesn’t like to think about what would have happened to that love if Damian were still with Talia and Ra’s. They certainly wouldn’t have wanted to foster that love. They would have done everything they could to carve that out, until Damian was forced to be just as jaded and cynical as them. The thought of his happy baby brother in the hands of the League of Assassins makes him shudder.)

It’s been a really great day. He and Dami drove out to pick up Jason and Tim this morning for a boys day out. First they hit iHop for an overly-sugary breakfast. Tim begs to try a sip of Dick’s coffee; he is not a fan. Jason laughs at the face he makes for a solid five minutes then makes a nearly identical one when he tries it for himself, although he’s slightly better at hiding it. They’re both much more suited for their orange juice.

They see a movie, which Damian snoozes on Dick’s shoulder for the majority of, then pig out in the mall food court. Damian really likes French fries but his nose wrinkles every time at the sight of ketchup. What kind of kid doesn’t like ketchup? 

Tim dips his fries in yellow mustard, and Jason looks Dick straight in the eyes and tells him that they have to leave right now immediately. Tim’s pouty face looks astonishingly like Damian’s. It's like they were destined to be a family.

Dick doesn’t tell them about the planned final destination of the day until they're pulling into the parking lot. 

Jason glances side-eyed over at Dick. “The animal shelter? What the hell are we doing here?”

“Language, Jay,” Dick chides as he gets out and slides around to help Damian. “What do you think we’re doing here?”

“Well, we’re either adopting some sort of animal, which seems unlikely, or you’re here to sell the three of us as exotic pets, which I would kind of prefer you didn’t.”

“Would you be okay if he sold us under a different moniker than ‘exotic?’” Tim asks. 

“Sure.”

“I’m not selling any of you,” Dick says, rolling his eyes. “Yet. We’ll see how the rest of the day goes.”

“It’s important to have a backup plan,” Tim says sagely as he grins like a shark. “Keep Jason in line.”

“Hey!” Jason glares. “I am so not the problem child here.”

“Sure, you’re not,” Tim says, patting Jason’s shoulder. He's recently become immune to Jason't little scrunched-up glare. “So, what are we doing here?”

“It’s almost Dami’s birthday,” Dick says, leading them into the building.

“I know that,” Jason scowls. “Still doesn’t explain why we’re here though.”

Tim gasps. “Are you getting Dami a pet?”

Dick shrugs. “I was thinking about it. He loves animals. Don’t you, bud?” 

“Yeah!” Damian tugs on his hand, eager to toddle inside. Damian loves the zoo and petting goats at the fair, and when they had a playdate with one of Dami’s friends from tumbling, the kid spent the whole time practically glued to the side of their golden retriever instead of playing with any of the other toddlers. They don’t really have time and resources for a dog, but something a little more low-maintenance might be nice to bring some more joy to their apartment, and Damian would probably really like it.

“Ooh can you guys get a lizard?” Jason asks. “Then I can come visit it?”

Dick frowns. “You like lizards?”

Jason nods. “I used to have a pet lizard. His name was Mr. Toes and I rescued him from getting run over by a motorcycle. He lived in a shoe box under my bed.”

“This wasn’t in the Manor, was it?” Dick asks. “Because Alfred would have a cow.”

“Cow!” Dami cheers, still stuck firmly on the topic of animals. “Moo! Mooooo!”

“Nah,” Jason replies, looking a little distant and wistful now. “Back before. Mom never even knew about him.”

“Wait you named the lizard  _ Mr. Toes? _ ” Tim asks, before Dick has time to feel awkward or sad about having brought up Jason’s early home life. He really, really hates thinking about Jason's living situation before he tried to steal the tires off the Batmobile.

“I was seven!”

“Still! Anyway, you guys should get a bird, not a lizard. Ooh, or a ferret.”

“I’m not sure they have any ferrets here,” Dick says apologetically. “Or a lot of lizards. I think it’ll mostly be cats and dogs and a couple rabbits or something.”

Tim shrugs. “I guess those are fun too. I’ve only ever had a fish. I won him at a school carnival when I was six, and his name was Flipper.”

“Gross,” Jay says, wrinkling his nose.

“It is not gross! You’re gross!”

Dick sighs, although fondness swells in his chest. “We’re the only mature ones here huh, little D.” 

Damian continues to tug on his hand, practically jumping up and down as he looks up at Dick with the widest smile he’s ever seen. “Moo!”

“Moo,” Dick agrees with a nod. “Moo indeed.” Damian laughs, high pitched and delighted. “C’mon, boys,” he calls. “The humane society closes in less than four hours and I know for a fact Jason won’t let us leave until we pet all the dogs they have.”

Dick loses track of Jason and Tim less than five minutes after setting foot in the building. He’s pretty sure Jason is still trying to convince one of the volunteers to let him take one of the dogs on a walk, despite not being old enough or trained to. Dick gives him a fifty-fifty chance of getting his way. The puppy dog eyes probably won’t work on anyone that works regularly with actual puppy dogs, but Tim and Jason together are oddly very convincing. It’s probably going to come down to what kind of mood Tim’s in; does he want to help Jason or make his life so much more difficult? 

Whatever they’re up to, Dick’s sure they’re fine. He’s way too preoccupied with watching Damian pet all the cats. For an almost-three-year-old, he’s surprisingly gentle, especially given the extreme hair-pulling phase the kid went through not that long ago. (It was mostly when he was still a baby, but the habit got reawakened when he met Tim. Apparently, Tim’s hair seemed very pullable to Damian. Jason had teased him relentlessly the entire three weeks that Tim spent with his hair up in a borrowed scrunchie just to protect himself from little grabby hands.)

He’d started with Damian in his lap as they sat in one of the cat rooms, but Damian had wriggled off almost immediately to explore on his own. He’s been sitting in the same place for almost twenty minutes now, the same orange cat curled up on his folded knees. He keeps headbutting Damian, purring against his hands and chest as Damian giggles.

The cat lets Damian pet his belly, but almost takes Dick’s hand off when he tries to do the same thing. The little guy might not be Dick’s biggest fan but he’s clearly not letting Damian go anytime soon.

“What do you think, Dami?” Dick asks. He’s managed to scoot himself slowly onto the floor to join them, and Damian has coaxed the cat into letting Dick at least pet his head. He actually purrs when he scratches behind his ears. Nice. “You wanna take him home?” His little brother was supposed to be a baby assassin; Dick can take care of a kinda grumpy cat no problem.

Damian’s head shoots up, eyes ridiculously wide as he stares up at Dick. “Home?”

“Yeah. What do you say? You and me and…” He trails off, looking for the book that lists all the cats’ names. It’s on a table in the opposite corner of the room, and Dick really really doesn’t feel like getting up to get it. 

“Awfred,” Dami supplies, going back to petting the cat.

Dick frowns. “No, not Alfred, buddy. He’d live in the apartment. With us. You and me.”

Damian nods. “Yeah. Awfred.” He pokes the cat’s belly and gets another headbutt in response.

“Oh! Oh, you’re naming him Alfred?”

“Uh huh!”

“Interesting choice.”

“Yep. Dih like?” 

Dick hesitates, but then decides there’s no harm in it. What the hell. Why not let the kid name his cat after Alfred? It’s not hurting anyone. Alfred will probably be honored. “Yeah, bud. It’s a great name.”

The absolutely delighted look on Damian’s face means  _ everything. _ Dick wishes he could make sure it never, ever went away.

“Dick!” Jason comes barreling in, startling several of the cats, although Damian easily soothes Alfred the cat back down into his lap. “Think you can help me convince Alfred to let us adopt seven dogs?”

“Uh… No… Probably not. Sorry, Jaybird.”

He pouts. “You are no fun, Dickie. No fun.”

“Yeah, Alfred doesn’t budge easy on the whole dog thing. I really wanted one when I was little—totally had B convinced and everything—but I’m pretty sure Alf shut us down.” He shrugs. “Neither of us were mature enough for a dog anyway. At least I had the excuse of being  _ nine. _ ”

It makes Jason snort. “This the little guy you chose?” he asks, pointing down at the cat in Damian’s lap.

“I don’t think I could separate them if I wanted to.”

“You’re weak, Dickie-boy. Weak.”

“Sure am. Anyway, meet Alfred.”

“Alfred? Seriously?”

Dick raises his palms in surrender. “Dami named him, not me.”

“Huh. Okay. That’s kinda cute actually.”

“Yeah, I think so too.”

“Totally weak,” he repeats, rolling his eyes. “Okay, well if you’re just gonna sit here and be sappy, I’m gonna go help Tim set all the dogs free. Bye!”

“Okay, bye! Wait what— Jason! Jason come back here!” But he’s already gone, door swinging closed behind him. Dick sighs and turns back to Damian. “We better talk to someone about adopting this little guy before Jason and Tim get us kicked out for life. Why can’t they be more like you?” Damian just shrugs and Dick has to laugh. “Welcome to the family, Alfred the cat. You’re in for a wild ride.”

He loves this family so goddamn much. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, you might notice that this story hasn’t been updated in a while. Rest assured, it is not abandoned, I just realized that I really didn’t like some of the plot points I had planned for the future of this series, so I need to go back and rethink how I want everything to play out. Thank you for reading and sorry about the wait <3


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